


The Century Chorus

by Sforzie



Series: Three Kings and the Hellsguard Hare [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Amaurot (Final Fantasy XIV), Amaurotine Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Amaurotines (Final Fantasy XIV), Ascians (Final Fantasy XIV), Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Lewd Hand Holding, Loving Marriage, M/M, Multi, NaNoWriMo 2020, POV Multiple, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Polyamory, Polyandry, Reincarnation, Viera Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), no beta only nanowrimo, post 5.0 canon divergence, pre 5.3 lore, pretty much all the tags for hellsguard hare apply here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 53,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27341233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sforzie/pseuds/Sforzie
Summary: A follow-up, of sorts, toThe Hellsguard Hare, consisting of a series of ficlets cataloguing further details in the lives of the Warrior of Light and her menfolk, both past and present.Written for NaNoWriMo 2020!Set up for the joke:So the Warrior of Light married Aymeric, has Zenos as a side piece, and Emet-Selch for a best friend...Also:Hades and Hythlodaeus are roommates and definitely not boyfriends. Definitely.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light, Hythlodaeus & Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch & Hythlodaeus, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch & Hythlodaeus & Warrior of Light, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch & Warrior of Light, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Hythlodaeus, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Hythlodaeus/Warrior of Light, Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light
Series: Three Kings and the Hellsguard Hare [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1985158
Comments: 23
Kudos: 52





	1. Table of Contents

This collection of ficlets is being written for NaNoWriMo 2020! Everything is related to the story in [The Hellsguard Hare](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23031982/chapters/55077922), so if you haven't read that I would recommend that you STOP and go do so before delving into this. 

I'll be pulling from a series of daily prompts from [this Tumblr right here.](https://gatheredfates.tumblr.com/post/617061345483014144/hey-so-i-did-a-thing-from-a-suggestion-given) (Yes, that prompt list was made for earlier this year, but I'm using it anyway. It's a nice list, thanks to the person who made it.)

Due to the nature of the story, each ficlet will likely take place in a different time period. Some in the post 5.0 story, some back in ancient Amaurot, and so on. I'll do my best to include a timeframe note at the beginning of each story. 

If you don't know what NaNoWriMo is, you can [check it out right here.](https://nanowrimo.org/)

Tags and rating are subject to being updated/changed/possibly made fun of because tags are hard.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Table of Contents**

Chapter 2: " **Loyalty** " - (Year 1, Summer Ruby & Zenos)

Chapter 3: " **Letter** " - (Ancient Amaurot, Hades/Persephone/Hythlodaeus) [ **NSFW** ]

Chapter 4: " **Unspoken** " - (During _Shadowbringers_ , Emet-Selch & Summer Ruby)

[Prompt 4, "Salvation", will be posted elsewhere, for reasons.]

Chapter 5: " **Forgiveness** " - (Year 35, Emet-Selch, Zenos)

Chapter 6: " **Break** " - (Year 5, Aymeric, Zenos, Summer Ruby, standard Ishgardian violence warning)

Chapter 7: " **Tomorrow** " - (Ancient Amaurot, Hades/Hythlodaeus, sad feels, the smut happens off camera)

Chapter 8: " **Gods** " - (Year 11, Zenos)

Chapter 9: " **Memory** " - (Beginning of ARR, Summer Ruby)

Chapter 10: " **Gentle** " - (Year 16, Aymeric & Zenos)

Chapter 11: " **Chocolate** " - (Ancient Amaurot, Hades/Hythlodaeus) [ **NSFW** ]

Chapter 12: " **Sacred** " - (Year 56, Zenos & Aymeric, subject of death)

Chapter 13: " **Farewells** " - (Year 91, Crystal Exarch & Summer Ruby)

Chapter 14: " **Kiss** " - (Ancient Amaurot, Persephone/Rigel)

Chapter 15: " **Keep** " - (Year 18, Summer Ruby & Emet-Selch)

Chapter 16: " **Whimsy** " - (Ancient Amaurot, Hythlodaeus, Persephone, Hades)

Chapter 17: " **Home** \+ **Healing** " - (Year 9, Aymeric, Summer Ruby, Zenos)

Chapter 18: " **Judgement** " - (Year 90, Summer Ruby, Zenos, Emet-Selch, Elidibus, etc)

Chapter 19: " **Shattered** " - (3rd Era, Emet-Selch/Hades, 'Hythlodaeus')

Chapter 20: " **Wonderful** \+ **Hello** " - (Year 20, Emet-Selch, Merle, [Hades/Hythlodaeus]) 

Chapter 21: " **Omen** " - (Late 5.0, Emet-Selch, Summer Ruby) **BAD END AU**

Chapter 22: " **Confrontation** " - (Year 16, Zenos) **cw: Zenos**

Chapter 23: " **Laugh** " - (Year 25, Summer Ruby/Zenos)

Chapter 24: " **Infinity" _-_** (Year 90, Summer Ruby, Emet-Selch)

Chapter 25: " **Drink** " - (Year 6, Summer Ruby & Aymeric)

Chapter 26: " **Pillow** " - (Year 62, Summer Ruby, Emet-Selch, Merle, [Hades/Hythlodaeus])


	2. Loyalty

_Prompt 1_ : Loyalty

_Timeframe_ : A few months after HH

* * *

A few months passed in relative peace and quiet, and Summer Ruby was glad for that, as the previous few months had been exceedingly stressful for her. The Empire had shied away after its failed assault on Camp Dragonhead, collecting their dead and disappearing back behind the walls of their castra. Observations had all but confirmed that the castrum in the mountains was abandoned, and down at Castrum Centri things were quiet business as usual. The Holy See had posted a few additional patrols in the area, just in case, but there was a general sense of hope that the continuing presence of the Warrior of Light and the former prince of Garlemald nearby would be enough to deter the Imperials from any further aggressions. At least, until they came up with some new awful scheme.

But, in truth, it was not the Imperials that were high on the list of Summer Ruby’s concerns. Business concerns, at the least, as her personal concerns were a completely different matter. She rather preferred to focus her energies on these personal issues. She would much rather listen to Emet-Selch and Zenos quietly snipe at each other over lunch than do anything that involved aiding in Eorzean politics. Even in Ishgard she managed to avoid that, aside from having to attend the occasional dinner or party on her husband’s behalf.

She knew, of course, that the peace and quiet would not last. Eorzea was still at war with Garlemald, and despite her present exclusion from the Scions, she knew the Alliance expected her to eventually return to their fold. So it was no surprise when a messenger arrived on one exceptionally cold morning after she had returned from a survey of the Crozier with Zenos. The young hyur came carrying a scroll of parchment with a rather impressive seal on it.

“‘Tis from the leaders of the Eorzean Alliance,” the messenger announced as she gave the scroll a doubtful look. The boy was doing his best to focus on her, but occasionally his eyes would dart to the form looming behind her and he would squeak involuntarily in terror.

“What do they want?” the Garlean grumbled. The messenger swallowed back another noise of fear.

“‘Tis only for the Warrior of Light,” he said.

“What does it say?” she asked, staring down at the boy.

“I--I don’t know, I was not told of its contents. Just to deliver it to you.”

Summer Ruby continued to stare at the messenger as she plucked the scroll from his hand and held it over her shoulder. Zenos took it from her and broke the seal.

“Th-they said--” the messenger started to stammer in protest. “J-just the War--”

“The Warrior of Light, yes,” she said. “Business for mine eyes and ears only. But Lord Galvus is also mine eyes and ears, so there is no difference in his reading it instead of me.” She smiled at the uncomfortable noise that escaped the messenger. “What does it say, Zenos?”

“The leaders of the Eorzean Alliance are demanding your attendance at a meeting in Mor Dhona with the intent of discussing the resumption of your duties as Warrior of Light, specifically your return to the front in Gyr Abania to deal with the continued problems being presented by the Garlean forces that remain.” He unrolled the scroll a bit more. “Three days hence, after the mid-day bells.”

“I suppose I will have to show my face to them, then,” she said with a sigh.

“Why would you want to do that?” Zenos asked, the distaste plain in his tone.

“Politics, dear.”

Zenos just grunted his continued disapproval.

Summer Ruby opened her purse and retrieved a coin. She pressed it into the boy’s hand. “Return to your masters. Tell them that I will be in attendance, as so politely urged. But also make sure they understand that Lord Galvus will be accompanying me as my knight, and that is non-negotiable.” She waved her hand out the door, and the little Hyur hurried off into the bright day.

“Why do I have to accompany you?” Zenos asked, sour.

“To make them uncomfortable,” she said. He snorted in amusement and gestured with the parchment.

“Aymeric did not sign this, just the others.”

“Of course he didn’t,” said Summer Ruby. She pushed the door closed and looked up at her paramour. “They didn’t dare consult Ishgard on this matter before calling for me like I’m naught but a trained dog.”

Zenos watched as she removed her coat and hung it by the front doors. In a careful tone he says: “They might take my presence as an act of aggression.”

“I know. But, it isn’t as though I asked Emet-Selch to come along. That would certainly be an act of aggression, as we both know he is not one to be able to hold his tongue around people who think themselves better than him.” She helps Zenos out of his coat. “Besides, if something turns foul, there is nothing they can do to keep us from escaping. Though, I would rather it not come to that.”

“Truly.” Zenos rolled his eyes. “Well then, love, we’ll have to make another trip to the Crozier. I need to speak to my tailor about getting a more intimidating overcoat made.”

Three days later, just after the mid-day bells as scheduled, Summer Ruby teleported to Mor Dhona. Zenos arrived a few beats later through a carefully located portal, as he still hadn’t quite managed to figure out how to convince his aether to let him use the aetheryte network.

“I thought you’d been banished by the Scions,” Zenos said as he looked around.

“I have,” Summer Ruby said with forced cheerfulness. “But not the whole town. If any of the Scions are in attendance at this assembly, well, that’s their own problem.” She gestured at the largest building in the town, which primarily held Rowena’s House of Splendors. “We’re heading there.”

The town was busy, with people crowding the markets to gather things for their lunches and in preparation for the evening meal. Summer Ruby had no trouble threading her way through the crowd, Zenos close behind as though literally clinging to her skirts and not just through an anxious tether of aether. Outwardly, he was not nervous, radiating an absolute calm that was befitting of a master of the battlefield. His aether whispered to her a different story, telling Summer Ruby that he was ill-at-ease around so many strangers who might want to do her harm. This concern was only compounded by the fact that she had told him not to bring any weapons, and had come unarmed herself.

“ _If they raise a hand against me, it will show their true colors_ ,” she had told him.

“ _If they raise a hand against you, my Aesta, I will rip them to pieces._ ”

She had then had to command him not to bring any harm to anyone present at the meeting, unless it was absolutely necessary and she had directly told him that he was permitted to do so. He hand grumbled but agreed to her orders. Summer Ruby could only hope that no violence came of the meeting.

What good was being the savior of their nations if it would not gain her any leniency?

“ _I half expect the old man to show up, just to cause a scene. It is ever his wont_ ,” Zenos said into her thoughts. “ _Where is he?_ ”

“ _Off-world, minding to his own business. As you should well mind your own._ ” She smiled at one of the townsfolk who recognized her. “ _Besides, I’m quite certain that if I were to sincerely call for his aid, he would be here with all possible haste_.”

She was aware of Zenos’ grimace, even though she could not see it with her back to him. “ _I suppose that’s some small measure of reassurance_.”

Summer Ruby paused and turned to look up at him. “Are you alright? If I did not know you better, I would say you were nervous.”

His grimace lingered. “I am not a man of politics like my father and the old man. I speak better with a sword.”

“Or silence,” she said. Zenos’ lips pulled into a thin line.

“You truly just wish me to stand there and not say anything?”

“Yes. I do. If you do speak, I need you to choose your words very, very carefully, as I know you can.”

His lips moved, and she thought she saw him mouth a word: _savages_. But it was given no breath, and Zenos simply nodded. “I do as you will, Aesta.”

She smiled up at him. “Thank you, Zenos.” She patted the dark blue sleeve of his coat. “Remember, I’ll reward you later.”

He murmured: “I already set up time to use the training grounds.”

“Good man.”

She knew they had found the correct room in the twist of stone hallways when they came to a door with two guards standing outside--one in an Adders uniform, the other in the garb of the sultana’s private guard. The men politely saluted the Warrior of Light, but did not hide the uneasy looks that they cast upon the former prince. Zenos stared blandly back at them, until the Adder excused himself to announce her arrival. The other continued to stare, even though Zenos had closed his eyes and half turned his face away.

“ _There are many beyond the door. Are you certain it was wise not to come armed? For show, if nothing else._ ” The voice that resonated in her head was calm as ever, but she knew him well enough by now to recognize a note of concern.

“ _You are all the show I need_ ,” she thought to him. Zenos opened his eyes and tipped his head to look down at her.

“ _Surely you must know that you are baiting them with my presence._ ”

“ _Of course_.”

Zenos smirked at her until the Adder returned.

“This way, Lady Summer.”

“Summer _Ruby_ ,” Zenos corrected flatly, but the guards ignored him. She gave his forearm a gentle squeeze before following the guards into the meeting room.

Immediately, she was glad for Zenos’ warning about the rooms’ occupancy, as there were more people present than she had anticipated. The room was bare but for a long wooden table and collection of chairs. A half-dozen additional guards ringed the room. Down one side of the table sat the leaders of Ul’dah, Limsa Lominsa, and Gridania, while Raubahn and Lyse sat on the other. They were accompanied by young Alphinaud as well, which admittedly surprised the Warrior of Light.

“What are you doing here, Alphinaud?” Summer Ruby asked the young man, as he was seated closest to the door. “I was not aware the Scions would be in attendance.”

“Oh, I’m not here for the Scions. I’m here on behalf of the lack of representation for Doma.” The Elezen flashed an apologetic smile.

“For Doma?” Summer Ruby looked to the other side of the table, where the leaders seemed more interested in observing her stoic companion. She could not entirely blame them, as she thought Zenos looked quite the properly handsome gentleman with his hair neatly pulled back and frame covered in a carefully tailored dark blue coat. “You all had weeks and months to call me to heel, and could not think to alert Doma as well?”

“Lord Hien’s presence is not required for this meeting,” said Nanamo. Her hands were folded on the tabletop, but Summer Ruby was not entirely sure the young woman was not standing in her seat.

She made a show of looking down the length of the table. “And so I see that Ishgard was not called to offer a representative to this meeting, either.”

“An invitation was extended, but the Lord Commander did not see fit to send anyone to attend.”

Summer Ruby felt a burst of static from Zenos’ end of their connection. She pushed back, hoping to keep him calm.

“ _Lying cowards_.”

On the other side of the table, Lyse was already visibly struggling to maintain her decorum. “You’ll serve well enough as a face for Ishgard, but why did you bring that--that _thing_ with you? He is an insult to civil discourse.”

Zenos was silent behind her, his aether still. Waiting.

“As I am certain your messenger relayed, Zenos’ presence is a condition of my attendance at this meeting. If you do not wish him here, then I will depart with him.”

“He should be clapped in irons for his crimes,” Merlwyb said lowly. “Among other things.”

Summer Ruby showed her teeth when she smiled at them. “Perhaps you should be thanking him for committing patricide and relieving you all of the problems tied to his father’s actions.” A quick glance showed that everyone was uneasy with this reminder. “No? Then we will call that business even and there will be no further talk of any problems with my knight.”

There was a cough of disbelief from the table. The only one who did not react was Alphinaud, who already knew quite well of Zenos’ current standing in both Ishgard and the Borel home specifically. He and Alisaie had been making regular visits since Merle’s nameday party, and Alphinaud had nearly reached the point of not looking uncomfortable around the Garlean. Even now he just looked silently at Summer Ruby and raised his brows, as though surprised at the boldness of her admission.

“That matter is indeed part of why this conference has been assembled,” said Kan-E-Senna. “Your behavior in the moons following your return from another world have called into question your loyalty to the Eorzean Alliance.”

“‘My loyalty’?” Summer Ruby echoed. “Do my past actions not speak for themselves?”

“Your past actions do speak for your devotion to the cause, but only in the past. You have spent more than half the last year hidden away in Ishgard, and have been generally unresponsive to summons from both the Scions and the Alliance.”

“Ishgard is my home,” she said. “Naturally, it is where I would choose to spend the majority of my time.”

“And yet, you are standing with an enemy of the Alliance at your back, taken as your supposed ally.” Kan-E-Senna glanced across the table to the still visibly stewing Lyse. “We have been given reason to doubt the impetus behind your actions, especially given word that you are now in some sort of affiliation with the Ascians.” She frowned. “The selfsame ones who worked with Garlemald to bring about the most recent Calamity. Or, have you forgotten their crimes?”

_You have no idea_ , Summer Ruby thought. She masked her expression and stared down at the surface of the table.

“Well?” said Merlwyb. “What have you to say? If you are conspiring against the Alliance--”

“Who is conspiring?” Summer Ruby asked, cutting the woman off. “Zenos Galvus is no longer a citizen of Garlemald, nor their prince, and to them naught more than a traitor. He has been a law-abiding citizen of Ishgard for several months now; a fact that you would be aware of if you bothered directly communicating with the See instead of prowling around like a pack of angry dogs.”

“And, what of your dealings with the Ascians? Several of the Scions witnessed that firsthand.

Lyse nearly spat her words: “I saw it.” She jabbed a finger in the direction of Alphinaud. “And so did he!” The Elezen nodded but did not open his mouth.

Nanamo’s voice was soft: “What are we to think, when the Warrior of Light is consorting with the bringers of darkness and destruction? Who are we to turn to, if our beacon of hope has been tainted?”

Summer Ruby frowned. “I did not ask to become anyone’s beacon of hope. It was a task thrust upon me by the star herself.” She shook her head. “Have you ever thought of turning to yourselves? You did well enough without a hero in times passed. Why are you so certain that you cannot handle it now?”

“We were not facing against the Ascians in times passed,” said Raubahn.

“Perhaps you did, and simply did not know it.”

“All the same, we cannot turn a blind eye to your involvement with the enemy on multiple fronts.” Nanamo looked at Summer Ruby, and then to the rest of the table. “We cannot stand by while a member of the Alliance chooses to use their powers for wickedness.”

“ _There is a first time for everything_ ,” muttered Zenos.

“I am only a member of the Alliance to the extent that I am a citizen of Ishgard,” said Summer Ruby.

“You were enlisted as part of the Maelstrom forces, were you not?” Merlwyb shook her head. “That cannot be ignored. Your service is still owed.”

“You remember that much, but not the fact that I resigned from my position in the Maelstrom after I began to live more permanently in Ishgard. Technically, I no longer ‘owe’ you anything.”

“We should put them both in chains,” said Lyse coldly. “That would solve a lot of problems.”

“Be silent, harpy,” Zenos said. Lyse squawked indignantly and half rose from her seat.

“What did you say--”

“Zenos, please.” Summer Ruby looked at him over her shoulder. “Remember what we talked about.” He sighed and crossed his arms. “ _Don’t waste your words_.”

“ _Fine, fine_.”

“Truth be told,” Alphinaud said in a calm voice, “incarcerating the Warrior of Light will accomplish nothing. It will not encourage her to fight for our causes, and it will draw ire from the leadership of Ishgard. Not to mention the fact that I doubt you have any sort of walls an Ascian cannot just pass through to free her.”

“Then, what do you suggest we do, Master Leveilleur? Just let her roam free?”

“Yes,” he said. “She lives in Ishgard with her family. She really is not that difficult to find, if you bothered.”

“The Ascians--”

“Will continue to do what they please,” said Alphinaud. “There is little we can do directly to stop them. We have not the resources available to completely destroy them. All we can do is attempt to sabotage whatever machinations they have in play.”

“Without the help of the Warrior of Light.”

“I am not her speaker.” He looked up at Summer Ruby. “I trust her to be able to speak for herself.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Alphinaud.”

“These were not the results that we hoped for,” said Raubahn. “We had hoped you would come to Gyr Abania and assist our forces in driving back the Garleans. They are persistent.”

“Then, you must be persistent as well.”

“It would be easier with the return of the champion.”

“You were more thorough with your aid to Ishgard.” Raubahn frowned. “Why step away before the war is won for Ala Mhigo?”

Summer Ruby stared down the length of the table at the general. “You do not want a truthful answer to that question.”

The room was silent.

“I do not regret giving my aid in Ala Mhigo. But I will not continue to hold your hand.” She felt the warmth of Zenos’ aether at her back. The one thing about Ala Mhigo that, in the end, had turned out to be for her betterment.

“What will you do instead?”

“Instead? What I do is no ‘instead’--going back to Ala Mhigo would be the ‘instead’. I will be in Ishgard, defending Ishgard from outside threats. Considering that Ishgard is part of the Alliance, that ought to be good enough for you. Not that you have given much consideration to how you can help Ishgard in the past or present, only what use you can get out of them. You’ve been quite happy to continue receiving Ishgardian soldiers to throw at the Imperial forces, after all, when they are already spread quite thin at home. But, I will be in Ishgard, and I will keep them safe.”

The leaders of Eorzea exchanged uncomfortable glances.

“I suppose that is a fair enough course of action,” murmured Merlwyb.

“And, what about Zenos?” Lyse was glaring at her.

“What of him? He helps me--you’ll find that he’s already very good at killing Imperials.” She flashed her teeth at the younger woman. Lyse cringed.

“You truly have gone mad.”

Summer Ruby shrugged. “If this is what it takes to have some semblance of control over my life, then so be it.” She took a step back from the table, ready to adjourn the proceedings, but stopped upon recalling an earlier part of the conversation. “One last thing.” She looked down at the lalafell. “Tell me, why do you feel it necessary to lie to me about matters involving Ishgard? Do you not think I will learn of such things? You all demand _my_ loyalty and yet lie to my face.”

The sultana’s chubby cheeks reddened. “We did no such--”

“The leader of Ishgard is my _husband_ ,” she stated. “And I am quite certain that if he were to receive any sort of word of this meeting, he would have asked me about it since the meeting was about _me_ and that is something related to his interests.”

“I--” Nanamo clamped her mouth shut and fell silent.

“I thought as much.” Summer Ruby took another step back, her boot heel bumping against Zenos’ toe. “Well, I am done here. No need to thank me for my time.” She looked at Alphinaud. “Say ‘hello’ to the Scions for me, won’t you?”

The Garlean had already pushed the door open by the time she turned to leave.

“ _Shall we take the quick route back home?_ ”

“ _Not just yet._ ” Summer Ruby stopped when they had nearly cleared the main exit of the building, and gestured to the hall they had just traversed.

“Summer!” The sound of Alphinaud’s voice echoed to them before his footsteps did. The young Elezen nearly tackled her side, squeezing her in a hug before letting her go. Zenos just arched a brow at her.

“ _Mother’s intuition_.”

“I’m sorry about all of that, Summer. I know you dislike being treated like… like…”

“A criminal?” suggested Zenos. Alphinaud made a face, but nodded.

“I’m afraid so. I know that you mean well in all that you do, even if we are too small to understand it.” He made a hopeful noise as she reached and patted his head. “You aren’t angry?”

“With you? No, of course not. With them? Well, perhaps a little. They should know better.”

He looked up at her. “Am I still invited to Ser Aymeric’s nameday party? Alisaie will be cross with me if I got myself uninvited.”

“Well…” Summer Ruby made a show of turning to look at Zenos. The Garlean frowned down at Alphinaud, then looked to Summer Ruby and gave an exaggerated shrug. “I suppose you’re still invited, Alphi.”

He exhaled sharply. “Oh, thank the Twelve!”

She smiled at him. “Run along now, don’t want the others to think you’re turning, too. And remember, you can send word to the Congregation if you need me.”

Alphinaud beamed. “Thank you. Have a good afternoon, Summer! And you too, Lord Galvus!” 

They watched the young man and he turned and hurried off back into the building.

“Shall we go now, then?” Zenos lightly pressed his aether to the small of her back, rather than a much more public hand.

“Mm, let’s stop in the market, I told Ser Orage I would check on a dye for him.”

Zenos offered his usual reserved smile and waved a hand toward the market. “Lead the way.”


	3. Letter [NSFW]

_Prompt 2_ : Letter

 _Timeframe:_ Ancient Amaurot, better times

“Dear Hades, whatever are you doing?” He is pulled from his concentration by the voice of his roommate. Hades does not bother opening his eyes, and hopes that a well timed scowl at his friend would get the point across.

“I am thinking,” he says.

“You’re always thinking,” says Hythlodaeus, his voice closer now. The couch cushions shift and sink as new weight is added to them. Hades gasps and gives up, opening his eyes and turning his head to give the other man a proper glare. Hythlodaeus is all smiles below his mask, as usual. For a moment, Hades’ eyes are drawn to the green sparkle of his soul beneath his breast.

“What do you want, Hythlo?”

“A big, sloppy kiss, but I’ll have to wait for Percy to get here for that.” He slumps to the side and rests his weight against Hades’.

“I can’t believe you two are courting.”

“I can’t believe you two aren’t,” Hythlodaeus echoes in a teasing tone. “Oh well, your stupidity is my gain.”

“I’m not--!” He sighs. “Perhaps I am a little stupid.”

“The first step is admitting you have a problem,” his roommate chimes cheerfully. “Now, then, what manner of deep, intense overthinking did I interrupt with my return?”

Hades hesitates before shifting his gaze down to the pile of papers on their coffee table. “One of my instructors said that I need to create a personal focus. You know, something to use as a trigger when I am enacting larger magics and creations.”

“Percy and I have been telling you that for years, dear, you're simply too volatile,” says Hythlodaeus. “What have you come up with?”

“Nothing, yet.” Hades sighs again and rests his head on his friend’s shoulder. Hythlodaeus strokes his hand over Hades’ snowy white hair, and smiles at the reflexive noise of contentment that comes from the other man.

“Hm, well, a gesture is usually recommended over a word, yes? Something you don’t usually do.”

“Do you have a focus?”

“Mm? No, but I’ve not progressed into such advanced magics as you have. Perhaps later on.” He twists a length of hair through his fingers. “Do either of your parents use a focus?”

Hades is silent as he thinks. “I don’t--I don’t think so? Though, I’ve never really seen my father at work so I cannot say for certain.”

“My mother touches the pointer finger of her left hand to the tip of her nose,” says Hythlodaeus. He mimes the gesture with his free hand, adding a small ‘boop’ when he touches his nose.

“Is that why you do that? I always just assumed it was another of your peculiarities.”

He smiles at Hades' sour expression. “Oh, no, that was a learned peculiarity.”

Hades grunts softly and adjusts his weight, further burrowing the side of his face into the other’s robes. “Mm. I’ll have to thank her next time I see her.”

Hythlodaeus removes his mask and tosses it gently to the table. “Percy has a focus.” He extracts his fingers from Hades’ hair and lightly punches the knuckles of his right hand into his left palm.

“I thought that’s just what she does when she wants you to shut up,” Hades says. His friend laughs and shakes his head.

“I thought so too, at first. Though, I suppose she does that as more of an actual focus at the beginning of casting rather than as its activation…”

“She wouldn’t actually hit you anyway.” The corners of his mouth settle into their usual downturn. “She’s too nice for that.”

“Perhaps so,” Hythlodaeus says cheerfully. “Oh, she said she’ll be by after her last class this afternoon. Aren’t you excited?”

“Elated,” is the flat reply, but Hades can feel the spark in his own aether and is certain that Hythlodaeus can see through his near-lie. “Hythlo, she spends more time here than at her own apartment.”

“And, why do you think that is?”

Hades grunts and pushes himself upright. “Because she enjoys joining you in tormenting me with the sounds of the two of you having sex in your bedroom.”

There is a mischievous glint in his friend’s cerulean eyes as he grabs at Hades and tugs him into his arms. “Don’t be silly. We aren’t that loud.”

“Ach--let me go, Hythlo!”

“Hm hm, I think not.” Hythlodaeus holds him tight. “You still have not come up with a focus. You should do that before Percy gets here. She’ll be impressed.”

Hades stills in his struggling. “Do you think so?”

“Naturally. She is quite enamoured with your talents.”

“Oh.” He feels a flutter in his stomach. “Yes, I suppose she is.” He wonders what sort of focus gesture Persephone might be keen on, but draws a blank. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

Hythlodaeus hums a wandering series of notes, his arms still locked around Hades’ torso. “You know her better than I do.”

This is true, Hades thinks. He closes his eyes and focuses on the gentle cadence of his own heartbeat, and then that of Hythlodaeus. He thinks of Persephone, of how she affects him, how warm and safe and complete she makes him feel. No, it is not a feeling, it is his reality. Hades holds out his right hand, fingers heavy in the still air. He tries to imagine what sort of motion his friend would come up with, were she tasked with creating his focus. 

He cannot think of anything. Hades is uncertain if this is because he simply does not know, if his imagination is failing him, or if Hythlodaeus’ immediate proximity is distracting him.

“I don’t know,” he finally says again. Hades does not like not knowing--he is supposed to be the clever one of their group. Hythlodaeus chuckles and nuzzles at the back of his head.

“It’s alright. You’ll think of something. But not before Percy gets here.” His head tips to the side, and Hades mimics the motion, looking toward the door to their apartment. There is someone making their way down the hall, and his Sight lets him see the brilliant blue of their soul as it traverses the row of identical doorways. He immediately tries to squirm out of Hythlodaeus’ arms, but his friend continues to hold him close.

“Oh, let me go, you big brute! She’s going to think we were up to something!”

Hythlodaeus hums and does not release him. “We wouldn’t want to give her the wrong idea, now would we?”

Hades sighs and slumps in defeat at the sound of four quick knocks on their door.

“It’s open!” Hythlodaeus calls. The door immediately swings open, and the object of their mutual affection enters the apartment.

“Hello, boys!” Persephone’s voice chimes brightly in the cramped space as she closes the door behind her. “How are you--oh, you two look comfy.”

“Greetings, Percy,” says Hythlodaeus. “We were just waiting for you to get here so you could join in on a project.”

“We were not--”

“Is that so? What sort of project?” She lowers the hood of her robes, and Hades is, as ever, momentarily distracted by the sanguine gleam of her red hair in the artificial lighting. His breath catches in his throat as she carelessly removes her mask, and Hades wishes that the passing of decades had done anything to reduce how strongly he reacted to just her presence. Percy sets her mask on the table next to Hythlodaeus’ mask, and then moves to perch on the arm of the couch.

“Ah.” Hades looks at his right hand, still half outstretched. He wants to answer--he knows the answer--but in the moment all he can think of was how she smells like she has been out in the woods, even though he knows the likelihood of her leaving Amaurot to do such a thing was very low on a school day. But, she smells like trees to him, like the little burst of magic that accompanies the silent unfurling of budding leaves on a tree during the warm months.

“Hades?” She cocks her head and stares down at him with her ruby red eyes.

“You smell nice,” he says.

Persephone blinks, and then bursts out laughing. Hythlodaeus gives him a warm squeeze, and Hades feels a bit lightheaded as he is overwhelmed by their heady proximity and much of the blood in his body seems to sink to his nethers. She leans to give Hythlodaeus a kiss, and the spark of his jealousy is nigh completely snuffed out by the awareness that all that separates his face from the warmth of her breasts is the thick fabric of her robes.

“Focus!” he blurts. Persephone hums with intrigue and leans back just enough for Hades to think of literally anything other than her flesh.

“What’s that?” she says.

“Oh, Hades has been tasked with coming up with a casting focus,” said Hythlodaeus. His fingers loosen their grip on his robe, only to smooth themselves down his front. Hades sucks in a breath when the other man’s fingers still over his abdomen.

“That sounds like fun,” she says. “Do you want my help, dearest Hades?”

“Yes,” he manages to squeak out. “That would be lovely.”

“Alright then!” Persephone gets to her feet. Hades lets out a shaky breath as he watches her move, half distracted by the fact that Hythlodaeus’ hand is still lingering almost too low on his belly. She turns to face them, lightly punching her fist into her palm, and for the first time Hades notices the flicker of blue on her knuckles when she completes the motion. A moment later her robe disappears, reappearing draped on the back of one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Hythlodaeus murmurs enthusiastically and squirms underneath him. Underneath her robes their friend was wearing naught more than a tank top and a pair of dark leggings. The logical part of Hades mind says yes, this makes sense if she was only coming over with the intent of having sex with Hythlo as it would minimize the amount of clothing she would have to remove. The young, hormone driven part of his mind however is screaming for the logical part to please shut up and admire her cleavage because it is beautiful and she is beautiful and he really just wants her to smother him with her generous flesh. The hardness pressing against his thigh says that, yes, Hythlodaeus is in agreement with this.

“Now then.” She rests her hands on her hips and squints at him. “Give me your hand.”

“What?” he balks, drawing his hand in.

She repeats: “Give me your hand, Hades. Don’t you trust me?”

Oh no, he thinks, she is going to take his hand and that will be more than he can handle. She is going to undo him, and it has been _years_ since he let himself be so reckless as to let her undo him.

“Against my better judgement,” he whispers. He yelps and tries to keep his hand away from hers as she reaches for him.

“Then just--” She laughs as he tucks his hand under his arm. “Hythlo, be a darling and distract him for me.”

“Gladly.” His big hand slides down and palms at Hades’ groin through the fabric of his robe. Hades inhales sharply, back going taut as the pressure glides very slowly over him.

And then, Persephone grabs Hades’ wrist and tugs his hand free.

As she threads her fingers with his, Hades feels the searching static of her aether as it reaches for his. He is helpless to this advance. His aether reaches for hers, and when they connect it is all Hades can do to not cry out in subdued bliss.

Can she tell how he loves her, when they touch like this? He does not know, and is terrified to ask.

He is aware of Hythlodaeus’ weight shifting beneath him, releasing his stubborn grip on Hades’ torso as he slides off the couch and kneels on the braided rug that covers the cold floor. Hades looks down at him, knowing damn well what his friend is up to, but then returns his attention to Persephone as she sits on the still warm spot on the sofa.

“Now then,” she says, slowly pulling her hand from his. Hades can see his aether strain after hers, his very soul reaching to keep her as close as he can. “What sort of focus would be best for our dear Hades?”

Hythlodaeus makes an exaggerated noise from the floor. His hands are busy undoing the fastenings on the front of Hades’ robe. “Sweet Percy, certainly you can think of something…”

“Yes, well. A focus should have some sort of meaning. That’s what my professor told me.”

“Then, why do you mime punching something?” Hades is embarrassed by the way his voice trembles.

“Subconscious desire to hit things in order to make them work,” she says.

“Oh.”

“Lift your hips a little?”

He does so without thinking to question why she is requesting such a motion, but a moment later is aware of his roommate’s fingers hooking at the edge of his unbuckled trousers--when had that happened?--and smallclothes and tugging them both down halfway to his knees. The cool air is a shock to his skin, but it is quickly replaced by warmth as Hythlodaeus’ hands move to cover him. Hades gasps softly at the contact, but again his attention is swayed back to Persephone as she holds his right hand out flat and breathes warmly against his skin.

“Oh, what are you--” His breath cuts off in his throat as her fingertip presses to his palm. Her aether stings, sharp as a knife, and he almost expects to see a wound appear as she drags her finger in a deliberate pattern. A letter, he realizes, as she momentarily lifts her finger from his skin before lowering it and starting another pattern.

_H-A-D-E-S._

He swallows, and tries his best to sound cheeky. “Yes, dear, I know my own name.”

She breathes against his skin again before continuing. “Keep it close to your heart, never to be forgotten.” 

He wants to question her, but is having a hard time keeping entirely focused as she starts to slowly drag another letter into his palm.

_P_

Every motion sends levin through the nerves of his hand, down his arm, and in a direct transit straight to his groin. Her touch slows after the third letter, and Hades realizes her name is twice as long as his and he isn’t sure if he can handle that much stimulation from her. She has just started the next letter when Hythlodaeus’ right hand curls around the base of his cock.

“He really likes that, Percy,” Hythlodaeus coos in a delighted tone. His words are hot against Hades’ skin. “Keep going.”

She does, drawing out the arcing line of the ‘S’ so slowly that Hades is uncertain of its progress. It is impossible for his brain to maintain its priority for more than a few seconds at a time. Below, Hythlodaeus’ fingers, strong and sure, are squeezing at the base of his cock, sliding upwards, thumb gliding over the bit of moisture gathering there, and then sliding down again. Then, above, Persephone’s aether is carving itself into his being, one agonizingly dawdling letter at a time.

“How?” Hades tries to speak, but his voice fails him.

“Can’t you concentrate?” she teases. He opens his mouth to retort, but the attempt fails as Hythlodaeus chooses this moment to run the flat of his tongue up the length of his erection. “Not like this is your first time, dear.”

“Ah--” He knows she is right, but wants to protest all the same. Wants to tell her it is different if it's just the two of them fooling around during a break in studying, or just he and Hythlo touching each other in the shower because Hythlo is nothing if not persistent and very good with his hands… But protests evade him.

She pauses, and Hades wonders if she has finished etching her name into his being. He has lost track of her progress. He looks at her. Persephone’s lips are parted, the tip of her tongue just barely visible. Her gaze is cast downwards, and following it he sees that she is watching Hythlodaeus trace the veins on Hades’ cock with his lips and tongue. She lets out a soft sigh, and he looks to her chest. Her nipples are hard, poking through the thin fabric of her tank top, and compulsively Hades leans in and lightly closes his teeth around one of them. Persephone gasps and squeezes his hand. Her aether jolts him so soundly that his hips jerk, and from below he hears the faint murmur of amusement.

“Here,” she whispers, and tugs up the front of her top. “But, we aren’t done yet.” Hades eagerly returns to her breast, taking one nipple into his mouth while the fingers of his free hand grasp at the other. Below, Hythlodaeus mimics the effort, his lips closing around the head of Hades’ cock. He groans into her flesh, and she offers a soft hum in return. He loves her immensely in that moment; loves the way she smells and the way her skin tastes and the way her aether twists into his as her thumb traces a lazy circle in his palm. Hades takes as much of her soft flesh into his mouth as he can, sucking needily at her. He wants to stay here, but after a few minutes of diligent attention she gently pushes at his shoulder.

“That’s enough for now,” Persephone whispers, voice sweet in his ear. She quiets his murmur of protest with a brief, nearly chaste kiss, and pushes him back into the cushion. “Why don’t you pay Hythlo more attention?”

Hades does as she suggests, just as the first stroke of another letter courses through his body. Hythlodaeus is still kneeling before him, lips closed around the head of his cock, and gazing up at him with impeccable patience. Hades catches his lower lip between his teeth as she starts the second letter.

_H-Y_

Hades exhales softly, knowing she does not need to mark his soul with their names. He knows he will never forget the pair of them, no matter how long he might live. He flashes a smile down at his friend, and Hythlodaeus’ eyes crinkle with a returning smile. Hades gives a little nod, and watches as his length disappears into Hythlodaeus’ mouth. He does not stop until his nose brushes the tangle of white hairs at its base. Hades hisses out a breath and grabs a handful of coppery hair.

It is a simple, carnal pleasure to indulge in, and Hythlodaeus’ mouth is something Hades is happy to keep too full to sass for a few minutes.

Hades lasts as long as his friend’s name, his body tensing as Persephone’s aether traces out a final interminable S into his skin. She watches greedily as Hythlodaeus takes what Hades has to give. Persephone presses a kiss to the base of his hand before tracing her tongue in a wet line across his prickling palm. Then she releases his hand and wraps her arms around his shoulders. Her aether flows peacefully against his as she snuggles against his side.

Hades wants to say something, anything, but cannot.

His entire being trembles following his release, and he flexes his tingling fingertips. Hades holds out his right hand, and does the first thing that crosses his thoughts.

He gives his fingers a playful snap.

“Oh, I like that,” says Persephone. “What did you think, Hythlo?”

Their friend just makes an agreeable noise as he continues to mouth at Hades’ wilting erection.

“I think he likes it, too,” she says. “Give it another try, dear Hades?”

It takes him another moment to find his voice, but he meekly manages: “I’m not sure I want to bind my magic to something that will forever remind me of Hythlo sucking my dick.”

She grins. “Surely there are worse things to be reminded of.”

“Perhaps so.” Hades stares at his palm, nearly expecting to see the gleam of the letters she has so carefully placed. He is dimly aware of Hythlodaeus’ half-hearted attempt to put him back to rights before squeezing himself up next to Persephone on the couch. 

He closes his eyes, trying to piece together one of the easier concepts he knows, and then apply it to what his professor had told him. _Visualization, intent, creation_. He holds out his hand once more, focusing, feeling the weight of his potential heavy against his bones.

Hades snaps his fingers.


	4. Unspoken

_Prompt 3_ : Unspoken

 _Timeframe_ : During _Shadowbringers_

Emet-Selch would be the first to admit that the First was not the ideal location for a man such as he to be working. That was why flooding the planet with Light had been pushed off to underlings to handle. He much preferred the Dark, that noble element of their lord Zodiark. But, Emet-Selch had always loved the darkness, even in his younger years. It was, to him, like the comforting warmth of his mother’s embrace. It made him feel safe and secure and protected and _loved_. So, to be stuck tying up loose ends on a world saturated with the Light to the point of bursting was, at best, miserably uncomfortable.

It was worth it, he told himself. Soon the First would be dismantled into naught but the Light, and another Ardor would be completed on the Source. The thought of this was enough to gladden his weary heart and help him push through with his duties.

He had left behind the Source only a few weeks ago, and spent the subsequent time surveying the current state of things on the First. His current vessel had taken a great deal of time and energy to adapt to his preferences, and it had been difficult to find a worthwhile vessel at all, as _everything_ on this miserable world was so thoroughly suffused with the Light. The frail little mortals here probably did not even notice it anymore, nursed upon the poison as they were.

It was the meager nature of the First’s souls that made the errant ones stand out. Souls from the Source, though still incomplete, were brilliant half bloomed flowers in comparison to the souls around them. Emet-Selch had covertly sought each one out, a half dozen or so of them, and found each in the same state. Souls, stolen from the Source and living in peculiar vessels cast from their own aether. In the simplest terms, they had bodies because they _thought_ they had bodies. They were all members of the Scions, a group of Eorzean do-gooders that Emet-Selch had heard Lahabrea complain about.

And they were all, in their own ways, waiting for the one they referred to as the Warrior of Light.

Busy as he had been on the Source, finishing up his portion of the careful arrangement of their plans as Solus, Emet-Selch had never chanced to come across the Warrior of Light. He had heard Lahabrea’s complaints of her, in those final moments of Solus’ twilight, but then Emet-Selch had been freed of his duties and gone to rest. When again he had been stirred from the void, it was with Lahabrea’s flames extinguished and Elidibus parading about in the body of Solus’ great-grandson. The whole thing had been quite unseemly, and when wondering how their carefully constructed plans had gone so catawampus, the same answer was given: the Warrior of Light. She with Hydaelyn’s accursed blessing, _she_ had seen Lahabrea felled and the great-grandson butchered, and she had been the spike driven into their plans. But Emet-Selch had never actually laid eyes on the woman. 

Though, if the one the mortals called the Crystal Exarch continued his fiddling about, Emet-Selch supposed that he might eventually get a chance to meet her.

So it was, some weeks after his arrival on the First, that the Ascian was passing an afternoon doing what he did best--napping. He was in Eulmore, lounging in the shadows on a terrace on the upper decks, waiting to get any sort of meaningful answer out of the sentient lump of a Lightwarden that lorded over the city and the surrounding countryside. This was the third day in a row that Emet-Selch had spent in this location, and fortunately the wait staff had quickly learned to leave him alone. During a brief period of wakefulness, he was dimly aware of one of the people of the Source milling about far below the city--a half grown Elezen with a sapphire colored soul that had a copy bouncing about elsewhere in Norvrandt.

When he woke from another prolonged nap, the Elezen’s soul had come much closer, and was within the city walls now. And it was not alone. There was another soul, far too bright compared to those native to this shard, and Emet-Selch would have been indifferent to its addition to the scenery had he not recognized the color of the soul.

A blazing aetheric blue, as though the very soul of the world had been cracked open and was spilling its essence from their breast.

Emet-Selch ceased his lounging and sat up. He rubbed at his eyes and focused his Sight. Surely it was just a trick of his eyes, a trick of his dreams, a trick of _something_. But, no the blue light remained at the side of the Elezen. Was this the Warrior of Light? That was impossible. There was no way that the fates would continue to spit on him with such ferocity. There was no way that _that_ _soul_ would be held by an enemy of his people. It could not be that soul, could not be her.

He had to know.

Emet-Selch did not have to wait long to get a better look. After a short while, the two souls of the Source split up, the Scion remaining up in the nicer part of the city while the other began to wander around. Probably gathering information, given the nature of well meaning troublemakers. Emet-Selch slipped into the shadows and made chase. It was in one of the city’s long twisting stairways that he finally caught up with her.

The Warrior of Light had stopped and was leaning against a railing, overlooking a chamber full of cells far below. She was off her guard, Emet-Selch thought--he could have easily pushed her to her death for all the care she was exhibiting. At least, he thought that he could. As soon as the thought crossed his mind the woman’s back tensed and she righted herself. She turned in his direction and stared, but her vision could not pierce the darkness in which Emet-Selch had cloaked himself.

He stared back, a hand folded over his own mouth. The Warrior of Light was an unusually tall Viera woman, with skin a lustrous walnut hue and hair as red as a ruby held up to the sun. The color of her hair was so close to being _right_ that it made his stomach turn. The woman shifted her weight, cocking her head to the side as she stared into the shadows. She was well geared, but nothing seemed to be fitted properly, as though she had borrowed the kit of a taller, more robustly built woman.

Emet-Selch wanted to speak. He wanted to call to her, to ask for her name, to ask how it was that she came to possess that particular soul. He kept his hand over his mouth, an unfamiliar feeling of anxiety pricking at the back of his mind as he watched her shrug and continue to descend the stairway. Emet-Selch followed. He did not want to lose sight of her, of that soul, not again. It had been more than a thousand years since he had last seen it, not since the Calamity of water on the Source had spirited its previous incarnation into the floodwaters and out of sight for the stretch of an entire Astral Era.

He wanted to grab the woman, snatch her away from this world and its Light and take her someplace where they could be alone. He wanted to crack her open and whisper to the soul that slept inside. He wanted that, needed that… but could not do that. He was not here on the First to indulge in such fancies, and if this woman was truly the Warrior of Light then her arrival on the First was only a fresh start to his troubles. She could ruin everything, just by being here.

The woman stopped again and looked over her shoulder. He saw her long red ears twitch. Her lips curved into a frown, and she pivoted on a heel and ascended several steps. She came to a stop only a fulm from where Emet-Selch lingered in the shadows. It was close enough for him to see her eyes, see that the left was a peerless red gem, the same that he had spent millennia longing to gaze into once more.

The Warrior of Light stared right back at him, and for the briefest of moments Emet-Selch was certain that she could see him. That was impossible, wasn’t it? It had to be impossible, even if she truly had an awakened Echo, she shouldn't have been able to espy him when he was doing his damnedest to remain hidden in plain sight.

After a long moment, the woman shook her head and rubbed her forehead. She muttered something about her body being ‘fucked up’ as she continued down the stairs. Once she was out of sight, Emet-Selch exhaled shakily and stepped out of the shadows.

”Persephone.” The word, dredged up from some long locked vault in his heart, escaped his lips before he had a chance to silence himself. Emet-Selch looked around, but the stairway was empty. Gazing below, he could still see that beautiful blue light making its way through the less openly ugly part of the city. He resisted its pull and forced himself to return to the gallery above.

What was he going to tell Elidibus? How would he tell the man that he had found her, found Persephone, found their traitorous Matrisiram? Elidibus would be furious that he had not killed her on the spot.

The solution was simple, Emet-Selch mused. He just wouldn’t tell Elidibus about this. The Emissary need not know of his discovery. Emet-Selch would deal with it, keep everything on schedule, and Elidibus would be none the wiser. Besides, he was still busy on the Source, and the Calamity of Light would likely come to fruition before Emet-Selch had another chance to speak with him. That was for the best.

He just had to figure out what to do about the Warrior of Light.

For the first time in a very long time, Emet-Selch felt doubt.

He had spent much of the past few weeks trailing the Scions. He had watched them, witnessed their deeds and their happy, slightly strained reunions as they came into contact with the Warrior of Light. He learned, from listening to their conversations, that the Warrior’s name was Summer Ruby, and the peculiar moniker was due to the fact that the woman had apparently been a Roegadyn the last time anyone had seen her on the Source. That was unusual, and left Emet-Selch wondering how whatever magic had been used to bring her to the First had caused such a transmogrification to her flesh while leaving it otherwise intact. He himself knew of no way to transfer a body between worlds. That would need further investigation.

And then, as was ever her mischievous soul’s wont, the Warrior of Light started to cause him trouble. In a display of power and prowess impossible for other mortals, she slew the Lightwardens of the Lakeland and Il Mheg regions. She absorbed the raw power of those beings and was not herself transformed. The night sky had returned to those areas for the first time in a century, and brought hope with it. This was wonderful for the mortals living on Norvrandt, but threw a massive wrench into the gears of the Ascians’ plans. Had this been done by any other mortal, Emet-Selch’s immediate response would have been simply to kill the Warrior of Light and release all that aether back into the wild. Problem solved, or at least mitigated.

But he could not bring himself to harm her. He had stood in the shadows of that ruined village and watched as the Warrior got back to her feet after cutting a hole in the very Light above. She had smiled meekly as the Elezen had rushed to her side to check on her wellness. And he had watched that treacherous Exarch just smile with what Emet-Selch could only read as a self satisfied smugness. The man was doing the right thing, certainly he thought that, even if it meant sacrificing the very woman who was doing it for him. The woman that he admired. Emet-Selch had watched, and felt anger and despair and frustration, and could not move to harm the Warrior of Light.

He had waited for her return after taking back the sky in Il Mheg. Emet-Selch had known immediately when she drew near--the blue light of her soul gleamed brighter somehow, bolstered by the feral power that churned now within the confines of her being. He could see it, plain as anything, but her comrades remained oblivious. Emet-Selch watched and waited, but then grew impatient and revealed himself to the Warrior and her companions. He extended a shade from where he lurked, and though it moved with silent footsteps through the central plaza, the Warrior of Light had been swift to turn and face him. He had stared at her, and she had stared back, and though only a few seconds passed each felt like an eternity as he hoped desperately that he might see some flicker of recognition on her pretty face.

But there had been none. He was a stranger to her.

Emet-Selch was good at parading around and making a show of things. He had been doing it for millennia, across countless stages and wearing innumerable faces. But in those long moments he had hated it all. He had wished only to grab her hand and take her away, to speak to her and make her listen. It was only his loyalty to Zodiark and his brothers that stayed his hand. Fix the plan and stick to it, that’s all there was. That was all there could be. She was going to have to die.

If she was doomed to death, then Emet-Selch was going to take his chances with her. What had he to lose? His heart had already been broken so very long ago. There was surely nothing left now, nothing to be stirred back to life by the faintest embers of hope.

He had no trouble locating the suite she had been given in the Crystarium. Even if her soul had not been a blazing torch for him to follow through his eternal darkness, he still would have quite easily been able to follow her back to her very door, or perhaps do something as mundane as just look at the registry book for her name. 

Emet-Selch decided to go for the straightforward route. He was an Ascian, after all. Surely such misbehavior was expected of him.

“You’ll have to forgive my intrusion…”

She had been wary, rightfully so, but far less hostile than he had anticipated. He had done his best to be charming and a bit flirty, and though he was horribly out of practice she had been tired and lonely and receptive to his advances. He had not been expecting her to be so… willing. But she had taken him to her bed, and bared herself to him with no further hesitation.

And as Emet-Selch lay with her, staring down at her flushed cheeks and feeling the warmth of her aether against his, he knew one uncomplicated fact:

He was doomed.


	5. Forgiveness

_Prompt 5_ : Forgiveness

 _Timeframe_ : HH +35 years

The morning was cold. It would be colder by mid-day, Emet-Selch knew this as a fact. Day by day, the cold crept in over the star, digging in its claws, snuffing out the lights of the weak and unprepared. It was a simple, subtle sort of Ardor, artful in a way, with glaciers extending from the ruins in Ilsabard and progressively choking out the life from every land Garlemald had failed to claim during the peak of its glory.

It was almost difficult work, keeping he and Elidibus’ promise to Matrisiram. Messy calamities were so much easier; keeping the destruction contained and focused away from Ishgard took effort. This was more difficult with just he and Elidibus at work, even with the occasional aid from one of the remaining underlings. Fandaniel had been quite giddy to help with the eighth successful Ardor--he had been beside himself with glee while observing the fireball that consumed the capital city of Garlemald. Then his vessel had been consumed by the inferno, and he had been peacefully resting in the Rift for the fifteen years since. 

Emet-Selch paced the carefully maintained streets of Ishgard, wandering in his thoughts, until he came to one of the ramparts that overlooked the Sea of Clouds. There he found his target: a tall figure standing silently in nearly pristine silver and blue armor. He stood and watched the man for a moment.

“What do you want?” Zenos said. Emet-Selch sighed. Even after so many years, there was still always an edge of tension to the boy’s voice whenever they were alone together.

“What makes you think I came here looking for you?” the Ascian retorted in a flippant tone.

“You do not wander idly,” the man said, back still turned to him. “And, Aesta has not called for me. So, you have found me of your own accord.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, grimacing at the chill wind that swept over Ishgard from the Sea. His Elezen vessel, despite his best modifications, never did get used to the cold like a Garlean’s could. It was a pity that a good Garlean vessel was nearly impossible to find these days, the purebloods having been all but wiped out. The man before him was the obvious exception to that rule of loss, but he was strictly off limits, and Emet-Selch had felt no temptation to try his luck again since vacating the body many years before.

Zenos turned to look at him, armor rattling with each movement. Despite being past sixty years of age at this point, the man looked no older than perhaps thirty. The only true sign of his aging was in his hair, long since faded from gold to platinum like Varis’ before him. That, and a few lines around his eyes that Emet-Selch suspected were just from the stress of so many years of trying to behave. He knew it was hard on the boy--even now, he would sometimes receive word from Summer Ruby that Zenos had gone off on a ‘hunting trip’, only to return a week or so later, gear spattered with dried blood, the edge gone from his gaze.

Zenos was staring at him. His stalwart silence reminded Emet-Selch of Varis, of that seething, long suffering silence that often only ended with a gunshot. Zenos wore the stillness better, though, as he was far more skilled at keeping his thoughts off his face.

He realized, as the quiet stretched on, that Zenos was waiting for Emet-Selch to speak. He fluffed up the collar of his coat and cleared his throat.

“Yes, I suppose you could say I did not happen across you by accident.”

Zenos just grunted and turned away again. Emet-Selch moved closer, wary of the katana belted at the man’s hip. He would _probably_ be able to teleport away from an attack in time, but the Ascian was not keen on testing his reaction times today.

“The ice grows thicker,” said Zenos. 

Emet-Selch tilted his head to the side and looked up at him. “Are you worried? You need not be.”

Zenos silence was its own response. So like his father. Forty or fifty years ago, Emet-Selch would have never pinned Zenos to be one caught up in _caring_. True, it was not a natural thing. Zenos’ diligence to the nation of Ishgard had grown out of his love for one woman, one soul. Emet-Selch could understand that much, at the least. Much of what he did was partially bound in his feelings for that same soul.

“Ishgard is well prepared for this calamity. You know it is; we have well seen to that. Even should the entire See be encased in ice, its people will be warm and secure and well fed.”

“Are you certain of that?”

He waved a hand. “As certain as I can be about anything. Were Garlemald still around, even they would be impressed by the measures that have been taken to secure the future of Ishgard. However transient that future might be, in the grand scheme of things.” Emet-Selch smiled. “And the people will be none the wiser, just as our dear Summer Ruby wished. They will never realize that all the irritating and expensive reforms that you encouraged Ser Aymeric to push through the Houses were all done to build up a framework that would protect them from a storm that was still years away.”

Zenos bowed his head. “I pray that it is as you say.”

“Have faith, Zenos. In her, if nothing else.”

“I do.”

A few minutes passed in silence, punctuated only by the occasional gust of frigid air racing over the ramparts. Finally, Zenos sighed and faced Emet-Selch again.

“Did the Lord Speaker send you after me?”

“What? No, of course not.” Emet-Selch looked away. “Not everything is done because of Merle.”

“Perhaps soon it might be. There is ever word of naming him Lord Regent of the See.”

The Ascian scoffed. “Typical Ishgardians.” His lips curled into a thoughtful pout. “He would never take that sort of role.”

“You do not know that for certain. He is his own person, Emet-Selch.”

He knew Zenos was right, but was loath to admit it out loud. He moved to the stone wall and peered out at the landscape below. Naught but stone and snow, with nary a speck of green to be found.

“It reminds me of Garlemald a century ago,” said Emet-Selch. “The cold, that is. Cold and desolate, yet with a people so resolute and hardy and… ready to be used.”

“The people of Ishgard are far more obstinate than the Garleans ever could hope to be.” Zenos crossed his arms. “Garlemald was but the perfect field for you to sow your seeds of hatred and discord. The quiet wish for revenge was already in their hearts, and you took advantage of that.”

Emet-Selch’s response was quick and dismissive. “It was all for the greater good.”

“That is easy for you to say.” Zenos turned his face away, casting his gaze out into the open sky. “You care not for the people of this star, for they are not your people, not truly. They are just shadows of the past. Fragile and foolish puppets for you to play with and discard.”

He arched a brow. “‘Tis still strange to hear you speak with such disdain for things that you once gave utterly no thought to.”

“It is stranger still to have the thoughts in my head, where once there was nothing but silence.”

“Not your thoughts, then, but Rigel’s influence?”

Zenos shook his head. “I am he, however incomplete. My thoughts are my own.” He shifted his weight on his feet. “It was easier to do the monstrous things that needed doing for your Ardors when you told yourself that the people of this star are not real people, are not really alive.”

“You are not really one to pass judgement when it comes to thinking nothing of others, boy,” said Emet-Selch.

“Hades,” Zenos said, his tone nearly flat. The name caught him off guard--he so rarely heard it said by anyone other than Summer Ruby, and even she tended to stick to his title. “When the old world is restored, what sort of place will it be? What will its people think of you, of what you have done in order to put things back together.”

The Ascian frowned and did not answer.

“What will they think of any of it? What will they think of me?” Zenos held out his right hand, palm facing the cold sky. He closed his eyes, and after a moment there was a flicker of aether and a small red flower, scarcely larger than his thumbnail, appeared on the leather of his glove. Emet-Selch recognized the blossom, though its scale and color were wrong.

“Gracious. Give you an extra shard or two, and suddenly you're a philosopher.” Emet-Selch reached out. He touched a finger to the small flower, and the blossom shimmered a warm golden hue. “Could you do that before? In the old world, I mean.”

“Indeed. While my skills were amateurish compared to hers, Persephone taught me a great and many things about creation magics. I made flowers for her.” Zenos frowned. “But, you know that.”

The Ascian sighed. “Even now, she shows no real inclination to relearn those old gifts. It is a pity. She was truly an artist.”

“There is not much of a place for pretty trees in a frozen wasteland,” said Zenos. He blew on the surface of the blossom, and it scattered into a shimmer of aether that dispersed on the wind.

“That might be true. I suppose I should continue my work and be patient with her.” He watched Zenos’ somber expression. “Let her be with her husband while she still can, yes?”

“Why do you think I am out here?” Zenos gestured restlessly at the icy stone. “Not to keep away from _her_ , but to keep her realm safe so that she need not worry over it.” He turned and faced the city proper, and Emet-Selch knew from the particular angle that he was facing that Zenos was searching for the blue gleam of Summer Ruby’s soul. 

“Do you think you will ever be able to forgive me? For the things I did as Solus? For the monster I saw you raised into?” Emet-Selch asked. The corners of Zenos’ mouth pinched downward.

“Merle did send you out here.”

“Perhaps.”

Zenos was again silent, brooding in his vigil.

“Zenos?”

He murmured: “The injuries you have placed upon me and my soul are not limited to this lifetime, to the little boy you mocked and guided into a blade’s ethos.” His thick lashes fanned against his pale skin as he closed his eyes.

“You would hold the actions done against you in your past incarnations against me?”

“It is all the same lifetime for you, Emet-Selch. You felt no remorse for what you did to my wife in Allag. You offered no aid when you could have. You let her die, let me die; time and again you let us suffer. ” His hand moved to the hilt of his katana, but did not close around it. “There is no forgiveness for that. Not now.”

Emet-Selch thought back to Allag, a time so long ago now. “Your wife in Allag…”

Zenos opened his eyes and whirled on the Ascian. “You know who she was, do not play daft! The Elezen dancer that you--you--” A cry, of anger and fury, choked itself off in his throat. “There is no forgiveness for what you have done to me, in this life or any other!” His pale eyes widened, and he lurched a step closer, looming too close for comfort. Zenos shouted: “Bring this world back to order, make us whole again, and then, _then_ perhaps I will consider forgiveness! But do not ask such things of me now, when I know _you do not mean them!_ ”

Emet-Selch took a step away. Uncomfortable at the other man’s wrath, he quipped: “A ‘no’ would have sufficed.”

Zenos flung his arm wide. He choked out: “Go! Be gone from me!”

The Ascian took another step back, wary of Zenos drawing his sword while he made his retreat. The Garlean turned away, and Emet-Selch hurried off over the cold stone.

The wind carried the sound of weeping to his back.


	6. Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for: Violence.

_Prompt 6_ : Break

 _Timeframe_ : HH +5 years

It was a quiet evening, and late when Aymeric finally finished with business for the day. The bells tolled the hour--one bell until dark. Aymeric sighed as his stomach growled. He misliked having to miss dinner, even if it was for a valid reason. He trusted Summer Ruby to make sure the kitchen kept something warmed and waiting for him, and that was enough to warm his thoughts as he made his way through the shadowy streets. After listening to the squabbles of the high houses all afternoon, it would be a comfort to simply embrace his wife and listen to tales of whatever mischief Merle had gotten himself into that day.

Someone bumped into him from behind, their elbow knocking against his.

“Oh, my apologies,” Aymeric said reflexively. The other man stopped and turned to look at him. Their face was vaguely familiar, and as Aymeric stood there trying to put a name to the mien, the man’s face contorted in disgust.

“Die, you Imperial-loving bastard!” the man shouted.

Aymeric recognized the flash of pain that lanced into his belly. The sting of a knife piercing flesh. In a panic, he grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the blade, forcing the attacker to let it go before pushing him away. Aymeric groaned in pain and sank to the ground. The attacker faltered for a moment, seemingly uncertain whether or not he wanted to retrieve his weapon before fleeing.

There was a crash of motion from above that knocked the attacker off his feet. Aymeric struggled to sit up but failed, and sank onto his side. In the fading light of the day, his eyes fought to stay focused on the scene before him. A massive figure was pinning down his attacker.

“Are you alive?” came a roughly barked question.

“Zenos,” he croaked.

“That counts as a ‘yes’,” the Garlean muttered. The attacker coughed below him.

“What…” Aymeric trailed off. He could not quite process his own question.

“Do not move, _corbeau_ ,” Zenos said sharply, knee pressed into the attacker’s back. “Don’t touch the blade until a healer gets here.”

Aymeric shuddered on the cold stone, barely able to concentrate on the men before him. 

“Miserable Garlean dog!” the attacker shouted, mouth open wide, baring his teeth at the much larger man that was pinning him to the frozen stone.

“A dog, am I?” Zenos snarled at the man and flashed his teeth in return. “I can be a dog if you need me to be.” He leaned his weight into his grasp, and the man wheezed in pain.

“You may have the Lord Commander fooled, but you do not fool the true men of the high houses! We know you are just biding your time until you open the gates to let Garlemald in!”

“Fine words, craven. They will read well on your epitaph.”

“Don’t kill him,” Aymeric whispered.

“What, are you afraid to make a martyr out of me?” the attacker barked a bitter laugh. “‘Tis you who art the craven!”

“I understand,” Zenos said. “It is better duty left to our lady. She is an arbiter of Halone, after all.” He sneered at the lordling beneath him. “Though I do not think this _savage_ worthy of death by her hand.”

The attacker yelped in pain as Zenos increased the pressure on his arms.

“She is close,” Zenos said. He grinned in Aymeric’s direction. “Might I at least break this beast’s treacherous fingers so that she might find us more easily?”

Aymeric knew it was a petty request, but the pain was making him feel more inclined to indulge in such darkness. Beyond that, he was tired of being stabbed by political dissidents.

“Aye,” he called out weakly. Aymeric closed his eyes, flinching at the first sound of cracking bone.

The sound of the rest of whatever Zenos was doing was drowned out by the attacker’s screams.

The man was still whimpering in pain a scant few minutes later when the sound of boot heels striking the stone met his ears.

“Aymeric!”

Relieved, he opened his eyes. His wife was fast approaching. Aymeric thought she looked resplendent in her housecoat. A vision of the Fury clad in blue and green satin. He feebly smiled. She was not alone: several paces behind her were one of the chirurgeons from the Congregation and two Temple Knights.

“Please, save me from this madman!” the attacker cried out in his pain.

Summer Ruby sighed: “Zenos.”

“The Lord Commander permitted me to take measures against further assault,” Zenos said in a deceptively flat tone. He was still grinning, all tooth and vengeance.

“Who is he?” one of the knights asked.

“Some nobody retainer from House Durendaire.” The attacker squeaked in pain again when the Garlean squeezed his broken fingers before lifting his bulk from the man’s back.

Aymeric did his best to look reassuring as he smiled at his wife when she crouched next to him. The chirurgeon got to work accessing the damage.

“Fair amount of blood loss,” they said. “‘Tis fortunate the Garlean was able to get word to you so quickly.”

“Indeed,” Summer Ruby murmured.

Aymeric closed his eyes, exhaling shakily as he felt the first warmth of the chirurgeon’s healing magic. He thought that it might be nice to be able to talk to Summer Ruby with his mind, the way that Zenos could for some reason that he only vaguely understood as having to do with their souls. It would be useful in times like this, when trying to speak caused his abdominal muscles to twitch painfully. All he could do now was helplessly wait to be healed.

A second glow of warmth sparked in his belly--something his body told him that it knew and recognized. His wife’s magic. He cracked his eyes open, but she was focused on the task of healing him.

“What happened?” asked one of the knights.

“That caitiff came upon the Lord Commander whilst he was returning home after completing his duties for the day.” Aymeric recognized the lacing of contempt in the Garlean’s calm voice.

“And, how did you come upon the scene?” There was a hint of doubt in the knight’s tone.

“I was following the Lord Commander,” was the bland reply. “He missed dinner due to working late, and the Lady Borel had me wait for him to leave and head home, to make sure he got there safely.” He grimaced. “I was not completely successful in my duty.”

“Why tonight?” Aymeric whispered. Zenos looked down at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement.

“She asks this duty of me nearly every time you are home late. You simply have not noticed, as I have had no need to show myself.”

Aymeric frowned, wondering how a seven and a half fulm tall man with bright blond hair would be able to hide from _anybody_. Surely he would have noticed, especially since, judging from his sudden appearance this evening, Zenos tend to follow him while traversing the rooftops. Perhaps not, though. Aymeric was so used to the occasional member of the Knights Dragoon standing up above the world on the roofs and parapets, that perhaps he would subconsciously ignore the Garlean following him.

It was still a little unnerving, though, to think that a three hundred and fifty ponz sack of popotoes could come crashing down on him like that and catch him unawares.

But then, the Garlean’s presence had always been somewhat unnerving. Even now, after more than five years of seeing the man on nearly a daily basis, there was something about Zenos Galvus that made Aymeric uneasy. 

He thought of the quiet, casual violence that Zenos had displayed tonight. Not out of any sort of malice, but out of his loyalty to the Warrior of Light. He still knew not what to make of it.

There was a gentle pressure on his abdomen, and when it released the pain diminished with it.

“There we go,” he heard the chirurgeon murmur. “Very good, very good. Your technique is getting much cleaner, Lady Borel.”

His wife sighed. “Yes, well, you never know when someone is going to attempt to assassinate your husband.”

The chirurgeon gave an exasperated laugh. “Yes, I suppose that is true. He is fortunate to have the Warrior of Light and Lord Galvus looking out for his well being.”

There was a smile in his wife’s voice: “Indeed.”

Aymeric felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. “Lord Commander, it is time to get up. We have healed your wounds as best we can, but you do still need some rest.”

He opened his eyes, looking at the patient mien of the chirurgeon. “Yes. Thank you. I am sorry to be such a trouble.”

“Fortunately, I had already finished my supper, or I might be cross with you, Ser.”

They helped him to his feet. Aymeric tried to be strong and hide the grimace at the pain that still echoed in his abdomen, but it caught him off guard and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Aymeric?”

“I’m okay,” he whispered, though they knew it a lie.

Aymeric cried out in surprise and some small amount of discomfort as Summer Ruby swept him off his feet and into her arms.

He started to stammer out a protest, but fell silent. He swallowed: “I can walk.”

“I don’t care,” she said pleasantly.

Aymeric had to admit, he felt very warm and safe in her arms. The Warrior of Light’s strength had not dwindled, even as she had taken time to be something other, something more than just the Warrior.

“Very well. Better you than Zenos.” He glanced around as she began to follow the chirurgeon. “Where is Zenos?”

“I sent him back to the manor,” she said. “He’ll keep an eye on Merle tonight.”

“What do you mean…” He trailed off, realizing what she meant. “Oh.”

“A night in the infirmary under observation,” Summer Ruby said. “Both mine and the medic’s.”

“I see.” He curled in as much as he could stand to and rested his forehead against her arm. “And what of my attacker?”

“He will be properly interrogated.” She smiled, and Aymeric saw something dark in her eyes. “And then I will take care of him.”


	7. Tomorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, sad feels. How you doin'?

_Prompt 7_ : Tomorrow

 _Timeframe:_ Ancient Amaurot, near the Final Days

Emet-Selch sighed, body and soul aching as he made his way home. He had not been there in days, been far too busy with his work to give time to such leisurely thoughts. But as the sun began to set over Amaurot, and they had stared out the big windows and wondered how many more times they might see such a beautiful sight, Lahabrea had folded his stack of papers and said he was going home to take a shower. The Speaker had walked out without another word. The remaining members of the Convocation had looked awkwardly amongst themselves, too weary to complete the uncomfortable task of viewing the pallor and pain on the faces of their co-workers and closest friends. One by one, they had all silently left, taking with them an unspoken promise to return to their grueling mission with the dawn. Aside from the Architect, the last out had been Elidibus. He was leaning on his elbows against the windowsill, chin balanced in his palms. His pale eyes were focused on a distant spire.

“You should go, too, Emet-Selch,” Elidibus had murmured. “Go home to your friends.”

“‘Friends?’” he had echoed, unable to hide the bite of despair and doubt from his tone. “I don’t even know where she’s gone.” Emet-Selch had looked to the table, cluttered with concept crystals and stacks of paper and ancient scrolls and discarded plates and all manner of mess. Nested underneath a scrambled stack of frantic sketches, he could make out the edge of a discarded black mask. He frowned. “I don’t even know where the hell she’s gone.”

“I know,” Elidibus had said.

“So, what point is there to go home? Or to _her_ home? She isn’t there--I’ve lost count of the number of times we’ve checked.”

“I know.”

“Then, what should I do?”

“Just go home, Hades,” the Emissary had whispered.

“What are you going to do, then?”

Elidibus did not move. “I was thinking of napping on one of the sofas in the conference lounge.”

“You should go home, too,” Emet-Selch had said.

Elidibus had whispered: “This _is_ my home.”

Now Emet-Selch made his way to his apartment, doing his best to ignore how unusually dark the world was, how even the glow of the streetlights seemed muted to his senses. There were few people out on the streets, and those that were shied away from him once they saw the mask of his office. The climb of the elevator to his floor felt interminable, and by the time he finally snapped the door open he just wanted to lie down on his bed and disappear.

Hythlodaeus was home. Of course he was. He had been ordered not to leave.

His friend looked up at his arrival, something hopeful on his face for a fleeting moment. But after holding his gaze for a few seconds, Hythlodaeus’ expression crumpled into sadness, and he looked away. He sunk deeper into the couch cushions as Emet-Selch removed his mask--the red thing seemed hateful at the moment--and set it on the table next to the plain white mask of his roommate.

“She didn’t come back, then?”

Emet-Selch sighed faintly. “You would have known if she had, Hythlo.”

A sound, heavy with regret, escaped his old friend. “Yes, you are right, aren’t you.” Hythlodaeus rubbed at the side of his face. “They let you come home?”

“It was a mutual cessation of activities for the night,” Emet-Selch said. Hythlodaeus hummed, but the usual bright sound had gone flat. “Would you rather I had stayed at the Capitol and slept on a couch?”

“No!” Hythlodaeus sat up, expression pinching as he fought back the tears that were gleaming in his blue eyes. He held out his hands to Emet-Selch. “Please, Hades.”

As much as Hythlodaeus had tried his nerves over the centuries, Emet-Selch still hated to see him in distress like this. Such sadness, such worry, and there was naught so far that he had been able to do to alleviate it. He had exhausted every possible means of locating Persephone, and still there was no trace of her. It was as though she had fallen off the face of the star, lost forever into the dark void beyond. No one had seen where she had gone to upon leaving the Capitol that day.

She was just _gone_.

Emet-Selch--no, he did not want to be Emet-Selch right now, that was a burden he was too weary to hold onto tonight--

“Hades,” Hythlodaeus whispered again. His long fingers flexed.

“I am here,” said Hades. He took his friend’s hands in his own, lacing their fingers together, and sat next to him on the old couch. Hythlodaeus tugged him closer, nearly into his lap, and encircled Hades with his strong arms. Hades sighed and rested his cheek on the bunching of black cloth that covered his chest.

“Your soul looks so dull,” said his friend, his hold on him firm but not too tight.

“I’m tired.” Hades burrowed his face in the front of his robe. “So very tired. I feel as though I could sleep until the world ends, and still be tired when I wake up.”

“Sleeping too much causes more fatigue,” Hythlodaeus said, his tone brightening slightly out of habitual glibness.

“I suppose you are correct.”

They were both quiet for several minutes. Even as his eyes slipped close, Hades could still see, could still  _ feel _ the steady green glow of Hythlodaeus’ soul. Its light was less brilliant than usual, surface cast in less of its usual mischievous glimmer. Sadness gripped Hades’ heart at the sight of it, and his eyes stung with tears.

It had been a while--several days, weeks, months?--since he last cried.

When he had realized that his love was truly gone, lost to them, he had sat hunched over his desk and wept until his head ached and the only escape was an old concept spell _of hers_ that caused him to immediately fall asleep. Even when he woke, his cheeks and the flawless surface of his desk were slicked with the slime of half dried tears.

Now he felt the weight of his failures, felt that he was making Hythlodaeus fade away, and he could not handle this either. His chest jerked in a sob, and he wept into his friend’s robe. Hythlodaeus’ hand was heavy in his hair, fingers combing through the mess his hair had become when Hades had tugged his ponytail from its bindings halfway while walking home from the Capitol.

“I am here,” Hythlodaeus said. “I am here. Hades.” Again there was a forced bit of lightness in his voice. “Haven’t I always been here, since first we met? You hated me then, and did you not love me now, I would think you hated me still.”

The plainness of Hythlodaeus’ words did nothing to stem his tears. “I’ve never hated you, Hythlo.”

“There’s no need to lie to me now, my dear.”

“You were an obnoxious, troublesome brat. But I never hated you. You irritated me and got on the last of my nerves and sabotaged my work and interrupted my naps and fucked the girl I loved while I could hear it in the next room over. But, I have never hated you.”

The heavy hand slipped from his hair and gently pushed Hades’ from his slump. His fingers curled under the stubble on his chin and lifted his face. Hades was nearly overcome by the rush of vulnerability he felt, of the press of judgement he felt from Hythlodaeus’ searching gaze.

“You have never been very good at lying, Hades,” said his friend. “And so I am compelled to take your words for sincerity right now.” His lips pulled into a weary smile. “If you do not hate me then, dear Hades, do you love me?”

“I suppose I do, in a fashion,” Hades said. For a moment Hythlodaeus’ gaze dropped, likely studying the gleam of Hades’ soul.

“Ah,” he said.

Hythlodaeus closed the distance between them, tilting his head to the side as he crushed his lips to Hades, drawing the breath from his lungs and replacing it with remnants of his own. Hades groaned, his tired fingers clutching at his robe.

“Is that what you need tonight?” Hades whispered. An unfamiliar look descended onto Hythlodaeus’ features: a sweet sort of sheepishness mixed with his devotion.

“I just want you with me, even if it’s just for tonight. I’m so tired of sleeping in an empty home. I get--” His usually boastful voice caught in his throat. “ _Scared_.”

Hades blinked, slipping a hand free to touch Hythlodaeus’ cheek. “Scared?”

“The beasts, the monsters, sometimes they make it into the building. Sometimes I lay here on the couch and I hear them skittering down the halls and I do not know if they are there, or if I am losing my mind.” A tear streaked down his cheek, and Hades caught it on the tip of his thumb.

“Oh, Hythlo… I am sorry.” Hades swallowed. “I don’t know what I can do. I know what we plan to do, but I do not--” He closed his mouth. Such thoughts and fears already felt blasphemous.

“Just tonight, please. Tomorrow you can go, go back to the Capitol and do what must be done, but tonight, _please_. Please don’t leave me.” Hythlodaeus’ pleading turns into a whisper. “I need you.”

Hades could feel the desperate bump of Hythlodaeus’ soul against his own. He reached out with his own, and heard the soft cry of relief that escaped his dear friend.

“I am all yours, Hythlo,” he said. “Until the sun returns and I must leave, I am yours, and you are mine.”

“I am yours, Hades.”

It was dark, long dark, when Hades woke from a light slumber. Hythlodaeus’ weight was heavy against his, forehead pressed to Hades’ collarbone and fingers still caught in the midst of tracing the valleys between his ribs.

“Hythlo?” Hades murmured.

“You only dozed off a little while,” was the soft reply.

“I didn’t mean to leave you.”

“It is alright. You were still here.” Hades could feel the slight squeeze of Hythlodaeus’ soul within his own. “Did you dream?”

“No,” Hades said. “‘Twas just darkness.”

“Perhaps you dreamt of darkness, then.”

“Perhaps.” He reached and twisted a length of the copper threads of Hythlodaeus’ hair around his fingers. His friend hummed, the notes struggling back to something closer to normal, though they did not entirely make it. Still, his soul felt calmer, more at peace than it had when Hades had returned from the Capitol. Or perhaps that was his own feelings of release. He was not certain.

For a while they lay in silence, Hades’ fingers in his friend’s hair, and Hythlodaeus’ forefinger tracing formless glyphs onto the skin over Hades’ heart.

Eventually, Hades lifted his hand and pressed his lips to the copper strand looped around his fingers. “I love you, my dear Hythlodaeus.” He felt a soft hum of content acknowledgement against his breast.

“I know.” He sounded pleased with himself.

Hades thought, and realized: “You tricked me into saying that, didn’t you? With your pouting about how I’ve always hated you, when you knew full well I did not.”

“You may be a grouch and a pessimist, but even that would not give you reason to keep as my housemate for so very long, and through so many residences.”

“Such cheek.” Hythlodaeus was right, of course.

“Mm, do you still love me, then?” He could tell that Hythlodaeus was grinning now, despite the weight of the darkness that had enclosed them.

Hades sighed. “Of course I do.”

Again they lapsed into silence. Sleep tugged at Hades’ eyelids and softened the edges of his thoughts, but he fought it off. He did not want to miss something that Hythlodaeus might want to say. As effervescent as he might be, Hythlodaeus had never been one to speak without reason.

“You think too much, dear Hades.”

He sighed. “I know. I cannot help myself.”

Hythlodaeus shifted his weight, first to his elbows, and then his palms pressing into the cushions. “Tell me what troubles you? I know I cannot help, but I want to know.”

He looked up into his friend’s eyes. His gaze was calm, despite the slight pinch between his brows. “Hythlodaeus… If something goes wrong, and what the Convocation is going to attempt does not work, can you forgive me?”

“Of course I can.” Hythlodaeus tipped his head to the side. “But, do you lack faith in your own work?”

“No.” Hades felt an oppressive weight in his heart, and he was not certain of the veracity of the word. “But Percy did.”

His friend sighed and dipped in close enough to feather his lips against the bridge of Hades’ nose. “We are all entitled to our own feelings. It has been a rough time.”

Hades' eyes nearly crossed as he tried to focus on the too-close face. “How can you be so forgiving?”

Hythlodaeus kissed at the tip of his nose. “Because I love you. That does not stop just because a bad choice is made.”

“So, you think this is a bad idea.”

The couch cushion shook slightly as Hythlodaeus shrugged. “I am not sure that there _was_ a good idea to be found in this crisis. If we are to survive, then perhaps a ‘bad’ idea is the only viable one to pursue.”

Hades smiled. “I hate when you agree with me on something of mine I am unhappy over.”

Hythlodaeus only smirked in reply and kissed him. When they had to breathe again, he lingered over Hades and pressed light kisses to his cheeks. Hades could only exhale in a tired sigh.

“Thank you, Hythlo.”

“Shh. Make no mention of it. I have always been at your side, and always will be at your side. No matter how hard you try to shake me off.”

“My dear, from you that almost sounds like a threat.”

Hythlodaeus just smiled.

“Emet-Selch?”

He grunted and pressed his hand over his face. “No, he does not live here anymore.”

A soft chuckle, then. “Hades.”

Emet-Selch sighed in defeat and cracked his eyes open. He peered between his fingers, squinting against the bright afternoon sunlight. “Yes, yes, what is it? Don’t you have enough manners to not wake an old man when he’s napping.”

“Of course not. I was instructed to make sure you wake up.”

“Oh, and by whom? They need a good swat.”

“By Lady Borel,” the young man said in a sing-song. Emet-Selch felt a familiar pinch of affection.

“Perhaps two good swats, when the Lord Commander isn’t around.” He dragged his hands over his face and sat up on the settee he had dozed off upon, some hours ago judging by the shift in the daylight coming through the windows.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” The man held his hands out to Emet-Selch, who snorted and lightly swatted them away. “Come on, old man.”

“Oh, to suffer such indignity from a foolish child.” Emet-Selch got to his feet and stretched until his back popped. He was starting to think it might be time to find a newer vessel.

They made their way from the library and down the dimly lit hall beyond.

“What were you dreaming of? You looked sad.”

“I always look sad,” Emet-Selch groused. “But, since you must be nosy, I was dreaming of Amaurot. Of the end.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. “

“It cannot be helped, I am afraid. Sometimes my mind just decides it wants to wallow in my regrets when I am incapacitated and able to distract my thoughts.”

“What sorts of regrets today?”

Emet-Selch paused and looked over his shoulder. “When you said you would always be at my side, whether I liked it or not, I did not think you meant that _literally_ , to the point of stalking me to death and beyond.”

Behind him, Merle just smiled.


	8. Gods

_Prompt 8:_ Gods

 _Timeframe:_ HH + 11 years

“Like this?”

“Just so. Make sure to mind your elbows.”

Zenos stood, hands on his hips, and watched the young son of the Lord Commander as he swung at a training dummy. The boy grunted with the effort as wood struck straw-padded leather. The training sword was too big for him, too heavy, but he was stubborn and refused to use something smaller. At nearly twelve years of age, little Merle was at an awkward stage in his growth. He was somehow small and a bit too large at the same time--his half Elezen blood tempering the larger bulk and earlier growth spurt of his Roegadyn half. Given another two or three years, and the training sword he held now would be too small for him. 

“Good, keep repeating the motions.”

While Merle continued his practice, Zenos glanced around the rest of the training yard at the Congregation. A few knights were going through their manuevers on the other side of the yard, and an archer was taking shots at another dummy. It was a quiet morning, cold and peaceful. Zenos scanned the sky: clear blue to the east, cloudy off to the west and south. It would likely snow later, but that was a nearly daily occurrence in Ishgard. It reminded him of his childhood home in Garlemald, of the constant, biting cold, the frequent snowstorms, the persistent nagging feeling of inescapable death. At the very least, the shadow of death loomed not quite so dark here in Ishgard. He was never certain why. Perhaps it was her Light that eased the terror of the frozen dark to its people.

Not that any such fear existed in Zenos’ heart. If any sort of fear did dwell in his being, it was a concern for the safety of the Warrior of Light. That, and nothing more. He concerned himself with the well being of the people and the state only because they were her concerns, her dedicated duty. Even the miniature version of the Lord Commander huffing and puffing in front of him was only an auxiliary concern. The boy was fine, healthy, intelligent, well and capable of keeping himself out of trouble. Still, Zenos watched over him. It was his duty.

“ _Zenos_ .” His name, accompanied by a bit of warmth in a corner of his mind. “ _‘Tis nearly time for morning prayer. Bring Merle home._ ”

“ _At thy bidding, my love_.” Zenos waited for the boy to finish another swing before clapping his hands. “Alright, Merle. That is enough for now. Your mother wants you home to freshen up before morning prayer.”

Merle leaned against the battered dummy as he caught his breath. “Will you come along, Uncle?”

Zenos blinked. “Do you think I should?”

The boy shrugged. “Mama would like it if you came along.”

That was reason enough for him. “Very well. Run ahead home. I will meet up with you at the temple.” He took the training sword from Merle and gestured at the exit gate.

“See you there!”

Zenos studied the wooden sword in his hand. To him it was a small, ineffectual thing, a splinter of wood ill equipped for any sort of attack. Still, he could feel the faint haze of the boy’s aether on the grip. He had been extending himself again--Zenos would have to speak to Aymeric about that when there was time. The Lord Commander would know better what the development patterns of an Elezen boy of Merle’s age would be.

He put the training sword away and reclaimed his dark blue coat from where it fluttered lightly on a fence post. Zenos passed through the Congregation mostly ignored, nodding politely to Commander Lucia, and headed out in the direction of the temple.

“Lord Galvus,” one of the guards saluted politely as he passed. Zenos nodded, uncaring of the attention, and looked in the direction of his travel. One of the spires of the temple was just visible over the rooftops.

It was a strange thing, for a man like him, raised as he was in the Garlean lack of faith, to be willingly headed to join his conflux and her son at the morning services. He would be lying if he were to say that he truly had their faith, of the determined belief that Halone was a real force in the world and that She heard their prayers and sometimes answered and aided in their struggles. Difficult to believe, and yet not beyond the realm of possibility in his mind. When he was younger, this would have not been the case. The world was dark and cold and bleak, with little light to give him any hope for the future. He had craved challenge, and there was none.

But then he had met the Warrior of Light, and something in him had changed. He was drawn to her, to her power and grace, to the Light in her being that held her above all others in the realm. It would be years before either of them came to any realization that there might have been a deeper cause to this attraction. Both of them had simply thought it a strange magnetism.

Their souls had called out to each other. And Zenos had known, then, that though the gods of man had no pull or purpose for him, she did. The Warrior of Light was something, someone he could put his faith in.

Realizing that he loved her, that he could love at all, that they had loved time and again in the past long lost, none of that had changed his faith in her.

Sometimes, when he focused his thoughts enough and dredged old memories past his protective armor of boredom, Zenos recalled things from lifetimes ago. Only bits and pieces--conversations with Aesta had drawn them both into agreement that they would never remember everything in its entirety. Even across the span of a single mortal lifetime, most events were not etched into the weave of a soul’s memory. Only bright, important moments, or well worn paths of day-to-day monotony and pattern. And so, while he knew innately that during the days of Allag he had lived as a guard for the palace, he did not remember much of the intricacies of that life. While he knew he had once been a tiny and yet still tactically superior lalafell, he did not remember much of the story of that life. 

One thing he did recall, from a time before even Allag, was being a hyur in a simple, warmongering group of people. The plains they conquered were lost to calamity and time, but Zenos still remembered being a warrior, and following the leader of their group with nearly blinding adoration. A warrior woman that was, to he and his people, an avatar of Halone herself. She was, of course, not the goddess given flesh, but during the good times, a smattering of years in the stretch of eternity, he had happily worshiped that woman and her bloodlust. He had given his body to hers, time and again, and greedily she had taken it and made it part of her.

Back then it had been so much easier to believe in the gods.

The ancients of Amaurot, much like the modern Garleans, had little use for gods and worship. They believed in themselves and their capacity to create things that had not previously existed. They did not need some higher being to look over them, to tell them what was right and wrong. They had not, until one day they had. When he dwelt upon those times, he remembered as Rigel did. He remembered being a young man, so young, who sat in one of his classes and was captivated by the simple woman standing at the podium before her pupils. He had become consumed by his affection for her, for his need to see her smile. Persephone of the Third Stellamelos.

And oh, how he loved her. It started as a simple bud in his breast during that first class, but by the time he had completed his schooling its vines had spread to nearly consume his being. The fact that she had responded to his affections would, had been the ancients inclined to believe such things, have been enough to make him believe that some god was watching out for him. But truly, it was not needed. Their love had been all he needed, no god or anything else…

Even now, as he approached the cathedral, he felt something warm flush to fill his soul. Zenos glanced around, and saw the familiar red tips of her ears peeking over the edge of the faithful gathered to enter the temple. She turned away from the crowd, a hand trailing along her son’s shoulder, and smiled at him.

The decades his heart had spent frozen and buried were as dreams upon waking. The silence and indifference of the gods mattered not, for now, in this place, he had found something to which he bound his burgeoning faith. His Halone smiled and held out her hand to him.

And, Oh! How he loved her.


	9. Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: _Today's entry is short due to problems with the flesh prison. Sorry._

_Prompt 9:_ Memory

 _Timeframe:_ Beginning of ARR

_Hear… Feel…_

_...Think…_

_...Remember…_

_...Please... remember us…_

Pain first, sharp in her skull and radiating through her collarbone. Was she dying? What had happened? Pain, the sound of screams fading with the rush of blood in her ears, the smell of gunpowder and blood fading and replaced by the crisp scent of greenery. She did not move, was afraid to move, afraid of the little lances of pain in her belly when she shifted her weight.

She shuddered, pressed her face into sharp blades of grass, and waited for the end.

There was darkness, a void, more darkness. It was comforting somehow, the darkness, like being folded into a mother’s protective embrace. Whose mother, she wondered. She did not know, could not remember what her mother had looked like. The embrace of darkness, stars twinkling in the distance, almost inviting and yet enough to make her want to turn away. Then a flicker of something, not light, but a lack of the consuming darkness. 

A figure took shape, a man perhaps, garbed in a hooded robe of black that was adorned with silver spikes. The top half of his face was covered in a red mask, and while his mouth was open, lips were moving, she could hear none of his words over the howl of the void around him. He grimaced and extended a hand to her, brandishing fingers capped in metallic claws as he did so. Without knowing his words, she could not tell--was he reaching for her to protect her or attack her?

Then a flash of blue light exploded from somewhere behind her, and she lost sense of the scene.

Dim light, the scent of foliage, and the cool touch of earth and damp dead leaves beneath her fingers. Her body ached, as though she was waking from an overlong sleep. It took her several minutes to be able to move. Her body felt _wrong_ , as though it had grown while she slept. That was strange, she thought. She was a woman grown, twenty--she hesitated. No, not twenty, she was thirty. Or perhaps thirty-five? She was uncertain, and struck by a thought that perhaps she had slept so long that she had forgotten.

She looked around, taking in the quiet, dark forest. She wondered when she had gotten here, and who had brought her to this place, and why. The last she remembered, she had been on a crowded battlefield, and the sky was falling, and--

No, that wasn't right, either. She had never been in a battle before, never on a battlefield. She did not even know how to use the longbow that rested nearby at the foot of a massive old tree. She was no archer, she was…

A bartender, of sorts. She worked at an establishment on a sunny beach, preparing drinks and appetizers for beachgoers and lecherous men who were really only there to proposition the dancing girls. Her sister--she had a sister? _Yes, a twin, younger than you_ \--who worked there as well, usually dancing for the men who preferred their ladies tall and statuesque. _You and she don't talk anymore, not in years. You're dead to her._ A sad realization, though she could not recall what had happened between them to create such a distance. She could remember feeling ill one evening, a stomachache, her sister crying, and… then what?

What had happened to her between going to bed with stomach cramps and feverish skin and waking up alone in the middle of a forest? Where even was she--who was she--

_Summer Ruby of the burning mountains. You're in the Black Shroud, outside of Gridania. Don't you remember? Perhaps you hit your head while training with the bow._

Yes, that was it, of course. She truly must have bonked herself hard if she had forgotten that. She picked up the bow, and felt a rush and sense of comfort in the smooth grain of the wood. Gridania, she had arrived there a month or so ago and begun training with the resident archers guild. They had been excited to have her, as they had a surplus of slightly too-long longbows and a dearth of--Roegadyn, yes--to use them. They were not accustomed to such tall trainees, and she towered half a fulm higher than even the tallest of their Elezen. She had enjoyed the bow, even though it sometimes proved a bit hazardous to its user. She lifted a hand and touched the rough, still healing line of a cut over her right eye, caused when a bowstring had snapped after she had shown a little too much enthusiasm on the draw. She would be fine, the healer had told her, though she was lucky the cord had not bit in any deeper or she might have lost her eye. It would still scar, they said, but certainly there was a man out there for her that would find it attractive. A fetching accent to her sharp features.

Summer Ruby sighed and got to her feet.

“Best to get back to camp before nightfall.”


	10. Gentle

_Prompt 10_ : Gentle

_Timeframe:_ HH + 16 years

Aymeric rubbed at his forehead, looking wearily at the lingering pile of paperwork that still cluttered the front of his desk. He picked up his mug, but frowned at finding that the remaining coffee at the bottom had turned to cold sludge.

"Time for a break, then." He heaved himself to his feet with a soft exhale of pain. He had suffered a broken leg the year previous, and while it healed cleanly it still caused him pain when he spent too long seated at his desk.

So, nearly every day.

He wondered if the cold was affecting his aging, or how it might be causing him to be more aware of it. The cold of the Calamity had not abated, and his people had been the sort previously more acclimated to warmer climes. Aymeric was scarcely 50, but still felt every ache and pain of his previous battles and blunders. He dwelt on this as he made his way down the hall to the main room of the Congregation.

"Lord Commander, did you need something?" Lucia looked up from where she was studying a map on the central table.

He envied the Garlean, just a bit. The cold never seemed to bother her, or at least it was never something she voiced a complaint about.

"Just needed to stretch my legs," he said. "Get some more coffee. These reform papers are half fit to make my brain go numb."

She smiled and waved a hand. "Leave the mug, I'll have someone fetch it for you."

Aymeric sighed and set the mug down. "Thank you." He looked around the room, ear catching on the sounds of training out in the training grounds. "Who's in the yard?"

"Ah, some of the archers are breaking in the new dummies. And Ser Zenos is out there with your boy."

He felt a prick of curiosity. "Again? I thought I spoke to Summer about him pushing Merle too hard. He's at an awkward age."

Lucia shrugged. "It seemed more at the young Lord's insistence, when they passed through."

"Perhaps." He drummed his nails on the rim of his mug. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Aymeric headed to the back door, pulling a heavy cloak from a hook and draping it over his shoulders before heading out onto the training yard. As Lucia had said, there were a half dozen young knights filling an unsuspecting training dummy with arrows. They were blatantly avoiding the other side of the yard, which was presently occupied by the hulking form of Zenos Galvus, and the relatively diminutive form of his young protege. Merle was nearly seventeen, but still only stood just past the towering Garlean's hip. Aymeric felt pity for his son, as he knew full well the pains of the first bursts of growth, especially since his Roegadyn half protested being held back in its development. It would be a rough year for the boy. But Merle was keen and clever in his sweetness, more than he would have expected, and never voiced a complaint to him.

Merle was bundled against the cold, while his teacher was wearing little more than a red tunic over his trousers. Aymeric watched as Merle swung at a dummy, a faint green gleam of aether appearing around the blade just before it struck the target. He repeated the motion a few times before stopping to catch his breath. Zenos was frowning, and Aymeric watched with a certain protective twinge of anticipation. Was he going to yell at the boy? Merle never complained about the training, which had been progressing for several years. But then, the boy was very cheerful and rarely complained about anything. Sometimes, to Aymeric, he thought the boy was just happy to be alive. Oh, to be young and oblivious to aught but the threat of dragons again!

"Does that feel better?" Zenos said.

"Still heavy," the boy replied.

"'Tis not my fault you refused a proper blade."

"I can handle it!" Merle said, but did not make a move to continue his drill.

"Are you in pain?. The Garlean reached out, gently pressing his palm to the boy's back. Merle nodded silently. "I see. Perhaps we should cover something different today."

Aymeric watched his son shake his head again in protest. Zenos huffed a sigh and looked across the field. He noticed--if he had not already and made no motion of it--Aymeric lingering near the door.

"Your mother will be cross with me if you strain yourself too hard again. You need to wait until you're fully grown to ruin your body." He waved at the edge of the field. "Do laps for a few minutes. It will warm you up."

Merle nodded obediently and handed the training sword off to Zenos. The Garlean watched him run off before stabbing the sword into the frozen ground and quietly making his way over to Aymeric.

"Lord Commander?" he said, tone politely inquisitive.

Aymeric smiled. "Are you certain that you don't wish to train recruits? You would be good at it."

Zenos grunted and crossed his arms. "I have not the patience for your blundering flock."

"What, just my hard headed son?"

He lifted his brows. "For  _ her _ hard headed son." 

"Yes, of course." Aymeric watched the boy loping along the edge of the field. "It still always befuddles me, when you do not yell at him."

The Garlean hummed softly. "Yelling does nothing to foster proper growth in a boy. You can be firm and guide, but not lead to resentment."

He watched as Zenos turned to follow his charge’s progress. Aymeric eyed him, feeling a pang of envy at the man’s persistently youthful appearance. Aside from a bit of fading to the golden sheen of his hair, Zenos had scarcely aged in the years he had been in Ishgard. Perhaps the cold was good for Garleans? Or perhaps there was something else at play, as he had certainly heard Lucia begin to mutter about aches in the morning. He tried to think of the man before him as a boy no older than Merle, but it was muddied by knowledge of everything that had followed. Docile as the man appeared now, Aymeric knew the only thing truly keeping him in check was the Warrior of Light.

“Did you… get yelled at by your tutors, as a boy?” Aymeric ventured the question in a careful tone. Zenos half turned to look at him.

“Yes. Until they learned better.” The flatness of his tone reminded him of the Garlean’s early days in Ishgard, when there was no vitality in his demeanor unless Summer Ruby was around.

“My tutors were fairly dull,” Aymeric said. “Mostly a bunch of old men with their glory days behind them, ready to pass on the dangers of dragons and debauchery on to a bright-eyed charge.” He shook his head. “Hmph, as though I were not already somewhat aware of the dangers of degenerate behavior.”

Zenos stared at him for a moment, and then the corner of his mouth pinched upward in some semblance of a smile. “You turned out well enough, despite their efforts.” He turned away. “Aesta would say so, at the least.”

He chuckled. “Thank you, Zenos.”

“Hm.” Zenos rolled his head to the side and cracked his neck. “She wants to know if you’ll be home for dinner tonight.”

“Ah. You do not have to play messenger, Zenos. I have told you that.”

The big man just shrugged.

“Well, you can tell her I’ll make a point of it.” He thought of the little cottage in the Firmament that Zenos called home. “You’re welcome to join us, if you would like.”

He said: “I’ll let her know.” Zenos waved a big hand toward the door. “You should go back inside before you catch ill from the cold.”

Aymeric smiled. “Of course.”


	11. Chocolate [NSFW]

_Prompt 11_ : Chocolate

 _Timeframe:_ Ancient Amaurot

It was quiet when Hades returned home from class, but a quick glance around showed him that his roommate was home. His verdant soul sparkled from within the kitchen, a sure enough sign to Hades that Hythlodaeus was up to some variety of mischief. Curious as to what trouble his friend was getting himself into, Hades removed his mask and robes and deposited them on the sofa. 

Hades peered into the small kitchen of their apartment. Hythlodaeus was leaning against the counter, a notepad in his left hand. He was drumming the fingers of his right hand on a small package from the local market while puzzling over whatever was written in his notes.

“Hythlo? What are you doing?”

His friend looked up and smiled. “Ah, welcome home, dear Hades. I was just trying to concoct a gift for Percy. I wanted to surprise her with something for the winter festival.”

“I see. Would you like my assistance?”

Hythlodaeus’ dark red brows lifted in surprise. “You would want to?”

“Yes. For Percy, I mean. Not you.”

“Oh, well, I’m not one to turn down your aid.” Despite Hades’ slightly rude comment, Hythlodaeus beamed at him. He opened the small bag and held out a wrapped bundle of dark brown material. “What do you think?”

“Chocolate?” Hades gave it a sniff--blissful smelling, as he would expect anything created by the market to be--but his lips still curled into a slight frown. “It’s very good, properly traditional for the winter festival, but you know that Percy isn’t that big on the stuff.”

“I know.” Hythlodaeus’ smile was unwavering. “That’s why I wanted to find a way to make it more appealing to her taste buds.”

“That’s, at the risk of sounding punny, quite sweet of you, Hythlo.”

“Mm, you know me.”

“I do, so I’m half tempted to be suspicious of your motive.”

Hythlodaeus took back the chocolate and delicately returned it to the counter. “No ulterior motives! I just want to treat her with something to make her happy.” He flashed a calculated pout at his roommate. “Don’t you?”

Hades reached up and mushed his cheeks. “Yes, yes, of course I do. Don’t go flashing that thing at me; it’s dangerous.”

His roommate laughed and pulled him into a hug. “Only for you, my dear.”

He sniffed. “Your breath smells like festival rum.”

Hythlodaeus chuckled and nuzzled at Hades’ hair. “Mm, I had a little sip or two to help me get in the mood. And to think.”

“How did that go?”

“Hm hm, could have gone better.” He gestured at the notepad. “I contacted my mother to ask her for suggestions, but she very specifically said I am not to attempt any baking.”

“At least she knows her son that well.” He sighed as Hythlodaeus continued to affectionately drape himself over Hades’ shoulder.

“I haven’t started that many fires,” he said.

“You are guilty of enough. We nearly got a fine the last time you turned on the oven.”

“Mm. I know, I know. So then, lord of no fun, what are your thoughts on the matter?”

“I don’t know. Where is the rum? Perhaps a few sips will help my creativity along.”

Several sips later, Hades and Hythlodaeus sat together on the sofa, the latter still rather determined in his draping efforts. Hades squinted at the notepad.

“I don’t know. So many of these ideas require actual skill in cooking and the use of heat in said cooking.”

Hythlodaeus took another swig from the bottle of spiced rum. “Yes, that was the problem I was running into.” He set the bottle on the table and settled against Hades’ side. “There has to be something relatively uncomplicated. Something that our dearest Percy will enjoy.”

“That is the most important part,” Hades said. He idly caught a loose strand of coppery hair in his fingers and wound it between them. “Now then, were you thinking of something light and airy, or something more thick and heavy…” He paused at a tipsy giggle from his friend. “Yes?”

“I’m always thinking of something thick and heavy when I’m around you, Hades.” Hythlodaeus nuzzled at the curve of his shoulder. “Well, after some drinking, at least.”

“What, you don’t fancy me when you’re sober?”

His roommate laughed. “Oh I do, but I fancy you so much more when _you_ aren’t sober.” Hythlodaeus grabbed the closer of Hades’ hands and guided it into his lap. He arched a brow at the warm firmness that rested at the confluence of his thighs. “That eager to think about a present for Percy, are we?”

“Mm, that is certainly on my list of contributing factors.” Hythlodaeus leaned in and nipped at his lower lip. “You could always help me with my thinking... “ He trailed off in a suggestive sing-song tone that brought a smile to Hades’ lips.

“You are quite the persistent debaucher, aren’t you?”

Hythlodaeus winked. “Just for you.”

“I’ll have to let Percy know that.”

He smirked. “No you won’t.”

Hades sighed. “No I won’t.” He slipped off the sofa and carefully arranged himself on the floor in front of Hythlodaeus. The smirk lingered on his face as he opened the fastenings of his trousers and shifted his knees apart. Hythlodaeus’ eyes gleamed merrily as Hades helped himself to his half hard cock, freeing it from its confines, one hand supporting its weight while his tongue caressed its length.

“Mm, you do know how to stir the imagination, Hades.”

“I learned from the best,” he teased back. After a few minutes of attention, Hythlodaeus’ cock had grown properly stiff and swollen, and Hades let the first few inches pass his lips before pausing. Hythlodaeus let out a low groan that he managed to recover into something more thoughtful sounding.

“Hm--cookies perhaps? Non-bake cookies?”

Hades was enjoying the heft of his friend’s girth against his tongue. “Mmph.”

“No? I’ll keep thinking.”

Hades focused on his pleasurable duty. When his friend’s member had filled his mouth and reached the back of his throat, he pondered how he might adjust the angle of his head and neck to better allow for--

“Oh!” Hythlodaeus cried out. Hades grunted softly as long fingers latched into his hair and tugged him up. His lips lost their purchase on his friend’s cock with a wet pop, and Hades sighed softly.

“ _What_?”

“I got an idea for Percy’s gift!”

Hades rolled his eyes and rested his cheek on Hythlodaeus’ thigh. “Were you even paying attention to what I was doing?”

His friend blinked and flashed him a mirthful smile. “Of course, my dear. You have a wonderful technique; I’ve always liked the bit you do with your tongue on the under--”

“Not as much as your idea, plainly.” Hades waved a hand. “Well, go on, share it with me.”

“Oh, but you…” Hythlodaeus trailed off, his gazing dropping to his lap, where his cock still stood eager for attention and slick with Hades’ saliva. “Will you finish?”

Hades smiled despite his irritation at being interrupted. “Tell me your idea, Hythlo, and if I like it, I’ll finish.”

“Mm, taste of my own medicine, I suppose.” He brushed his fingers through Hades’ hair. “Very well, a suitable punishment for interrupting you should I fail.”

“That’s right, my little scoundrel.” Hades shifted his weight back until he was a safe distance from his roommate’s lap. “Go on.”

“What if we made a drink of it?” Hythlodaeus gave an excited wave toward the kitchen. “We could melt the chocolate, blend it with some redgoat milk, a bit of sugar, perhaps some spices… I recall that we have nutmeg and cinnamon left in the cupboards from our last drinking, um, experiments.” He gave Hades a hopeful look.

“Hmm…” Hades drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the other’s knee.

“What do you think? Be honest.”

“I always endeavor to be honest with you.” He shrugged. “If you’re going to make that much of a production of it, you might as well throw in a bit of festival rum. And with the milk and sugar, perhaps the concoction might be more appealing if it were heated.”

“Heated?” Hythlodaeus tapped pensively at his chin. “Like a hot chocolate drink, then?”

“Yes, precisely.”

“Oh, I knew I could count on you!” His soul sparkled a bit with his delight. “You are ever so helpful, my darling Hades.” He smiled. “I do look forward to trying to make this drink.”

“I’m sure Percy will enjoy it. She’s always been easy to win over with a little alcohol.”

Hythlodaeus nodded and leaned in. “Most certainly, I should hope. But first…” He extended his hand and twirled a bit of snowy white hair through his fingers.

“Ah, yes. Your cleverness has earned a completion of your commendation.” Hades settled his weight once more between his companion’s thighs, and rested his forearm against the edge of the sofa. Hythlodaeus’ cock was still eager and awaiting his return.

“Do be thorough; I want to be clear headed when we get back to work.”

“I shall do my best.” Hades slowly dragged his tongue over the fresh moisture that had pooled at the time. “Now, where was I…?”


	12. Sacred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's bit includes pending character death, and is a bit sad.

_Prompt 12_ : Sacred

 _Timeframe:_ HH + 56 years

If anyone asked, Zenos would have to admit that he felt a touch uncomfortable as he entered the Borel manor. There was a stiff, unpleasant air to the place, today more than usual. He was puzzled--Aesta had called for him to come here through their bond, but a simple glance around was all he needed to know that his beloved was not home or anywhere in the immediate vicinity. He was about to call for her when he heard voices from the library. Zenos made his way down the hall, unable to make out clearly what was being said, but quite familiar with the voices and their owners. Another quick check--still no sign of Aesta--and he moved closer to the library door.

“He’s older than you lived as Solus.”

“I _chose_ to die at eighty-eight. It was the right time for my plans.”

A weary, amused chuckle. “Protest however you like.”

Zenos peeked inside. Two figures were seated on the sofa in front of the big fireplace. One was Emet-Selch, looking rather fresh faced in a fairly new vessel that he had acquired at the still frozen end of the glacial 9th Calamity. Next to him was the retired Lord Regent of Ishgard, grown from a baby to a middle aged man with silver streaks in his hair. He was old enough now to be a grandfather, but had never actually fathered any children of his own.

Zenos felt peculiar whenever he looked too closely at Merle de Borel, at the green glimmer of his soul that definitely shined more brightly when the Ascian was nearby. His soul was well known to him now, after so many decades, and yet Zenos was quite certain that the color of it had changed ever so slightly during the 8th Calamity when the boy was little more than twenty years of age. Strange, and yet it had done nothing to corrupt his character, and so Zenos had settled for not worrying the boy’s parents over the matter. He had once tried bringing it up to Emet-Selch, but the Ascian had given an indifferent shrug and said he was imagining things.

Same as ever.

“Better that he go now than have to fret over the next Calamity.”

“Perhaps so.” Emet-Selch’s head tipped back as he brought a snifter of brandy to his lips. “It shall not be long now.”

“Have you spoken to Mother about the next?”

“No, no. She’s had enough to trouble her heart with, she need not be concerned with this one. Elidibus and Pashtarot have it completely in hand. The first effects are already beginning to manifest in Othard.”

“And Fandaniel?”

A soft chuckle from the Ascian. “Doing much better after he had that screaming fit at me. Elidibus said that they’ve been having a lot of talks, trying to suss out what caused the damage to Fandaniel’s soul.”

“Oh, well, that’s progress…”

Zenos frowned and stepped away from the library door. He knew that Emet-Selch was speaking of Ascian matters, though he knew not why he was discussing them with _Merle_. It was not something he wanted to delve into at the moment, and so he turned and headed back to the other side of the mansion.

It was quiet, worryingly so, were Zenos ever one to worry much, as he approached the door to the master bedroom. There was still no sign of the woman who had summoned him from a nap in his little home in the Firmament. Just a dark, consuming silence that permeated the hallway. The door was cracked ajar, and Zenos calmly pushed it open.

Zenos knew death well. He had seen it brought upon countless men and women over his years, had carelessly called it to the side of innumerable forgotten faces with his own blades. And so Zenos Galvus knew quite confidently that he was passing the waiting form of death in the doorway. Even now it waited, silent, patient, wings drawn in until it was time to guide another soul to its slumber in the Lifestream.

Before him on the bed was a form of death that Zenos was not comfortable with.

Aymeric de Borel lay in bed, his withered frame all but concealed under a collection of blankets. Though his beard and hair were neatly trimmed, and his cheeks were pink from a recent scrub, the pall of illness still clung to the once robust man. His health had deteriorated quickly over the last year, and Zenos could not recall the last time he had seen the man on his feet. For a moment Zenos stood silent, watching the slow rise and fall of the blankets, fighting down a subtle feeling of unease at the possibility that the man might die with only himself present to witness it.

Zenos cleared his throat. “Aesta said you wanted to see me?”

Despite his inertia, Aymeric immediately cracked open his watery blue eyes. “Mm, yes. I needed to see that loathsomely pretty face again. Just one last time.” The shifting of his beard told Zenos that he was smiling.

“Do you know where she is? She called me here, but she is nowhere to be found.”

“I sent her away,” the former leader of Ishgard said, each word halting in his throat. “I needed to speak to you in private.” He sighed. “She will not be gone long.”

“And you?”

“Will wait for her to see me off.” Aymeric closed his eyes, muscles of his brow twitching in discomfort. Zenos sat in the small wooden chair that had been left next to the bed. He leaned in and pressed his thumb over the older man’s right eye, applying a touch of healing magic as he had been instructed. A breath of relief escaped from the old man. 

“Is there aught I can do for you, then, my friend?” Zenos waited, listening to the slow, even pace of the other man’s breathing.

Finally, Aymeric said: “You have already done so much. For me, for my family, for Ishgard. Given so much and never asked for anything more than to stand at her side. I would have not… I would have not thought such a thing possible, all those years ago in Ala Mhigo. And yet here you are now, and there almost none I trust as I do you, Zenos.”

He forced a smile. “You flatter me with your ramblings.”

“‘Tis not without direction.” His eyes cracked open again. “Or truth.” He lifted a trembling hand, pale eyes focusing on the silver band that yet graced his finger. “I could never have imagined the route that my life has taken. I was born into an Ishgard that knew not peace, that knew only a thousand years of fruitless, pointless struggle. And then--and then _she_ \--” His words faltered and he lowered his hand. Zenos smiled.

“Aye. She has that effect on lost causes.”

“I but mourn that I must leave her behind. That I--” Aymeric’s eyes watered and he squeezed them shut. He whispered: “I do not want to leave her.”

“And I am certain that she does not want you to go, either,” Zenos said. “I will be drying her tears for a long time.”

The old Elezen’s body shook with a sob. Zenos got up and perched on the edge of the bed. He pulled the light weight of the man into his arms.

“You have lived a good life, Aymeric de Borel. There is no shame in weeping for its end.”

“I have never seen you weep, Zenos,” he choked out through his tears. “Have you ever?”

Zenos was quiet, long fingers combing through the older man’s silvered tresses. “Perhaps for the sake of Aesta I have.”

Aymeric’s tears slowly abated, and he stilled against the Garlean’s chest. “You’re very warm.”

“Ah--I suppose so.”

“The fire that blazed in your breast when first you came to Ishgard, when you came in search of her, when you nearly struck me down…” Aymeric took a trembling breath. “I need you to hold to that fire, my friend. That indomitable will that keeps you as you are… do not let it go.”

Zenos had no intention of doing so, but simply nodded. “Of course.”

Aymeric did not move. “There is a thing I need to ask of you. Truly, I am certain that it does not need asking as you will do it on your own, but…”

“Ask.”

“Halone would find fault with me if I did not, for ‘tis a sacred sort of duty I ask of you.” His left hand, brandishing the old wedding band, clenched feebly in the fabric of Zenos’ tunic. “Take care of her for me. Keep her safe for me. Love her for me.”

Zenos swallowed. “As long I have, I will continue to do so. For myself, and for you. I accept thy charge, Aymeric.”

The Elezen whispered: “And my blessing.” At the slow nod from Zenos, Aymeric’s eyes squinted with a smile. “Though I do not want to depart, every mortal man has his time. And now I will be able to go knowing that though I am gone from her, she still has you to care for her.”

“Always,” Zenos said. “Always.”

He guided the other man back into the covers, gentle with his every movement, right down to arranging a blanket over his chest and smoothing his beard into order.

“You must look your best for her,” he whispered.

“Indeed.”

Zenos gazed down at the Elezen and committed his image to memory, alongside so many other memoirs of the man. 

“May we meet again one day, Aymeric de Borel.” He pressed his lips to the dry skin of his forehead. “Rest well until that day comes.”

“Thank you, Zenos.”

Zenos lingered just outside the nearly closed door. For reasons unknown to him, perhaps just his soul’s own inherent kindness, he did not want to leave Aymeric completely alone. He stood, waiting, and listened to the sound of Aymeric breathing. He held vigil until, nearly a quarter bell later, he felt the warmth of his conflux’s soul return to the area. When the Warrior of Light made her way down the hall her expression was carefully guarded. 

He held out his hand. She sucked in a shaky prelude to a sob, and then pressed her dark fingers into his palm.

“He is waiting for you,” he said. She looked up at him, tips of her ears drooping, and nodded.

“Stay close?” she whispered. He pressed a kiss between her ears.

“Forever.” 


	13. Farewells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ShB PSA: Please check on your grandpas every so often to make sure they don't become a bit weird and over possessive. Thanks!

_Prompt 13_ : Farewells

_Timeframe_ : HH + 91 years 

The Crystal Exarch was a man who was quite good at waiting. He had turned it into something of an art over the decades, though were someone to ask him what we here waiting for, he would likely just smile and correct the person who had asked the question. _Waiting? A silly suggestion. I am not waiting, I am watching over you all_. _That is my duty_.

And it was his duty, yes, to guide and guard the people of the Crystarium and of Norvrandt proper, but it was also a lie.

He was really just waiting for her, and the people in need were something of a hobby, now. Generations had lived and died, and he was glad to be of aid to them, but in the end they were just something to pass the time. The baker fell in love, got married, had children, grew old, and died. And so too did his children, and their children, and theirs beyond. And he said his hellos and his goodbyes and he loved and he mourned them all--

But, deep down, he was still just waiting for her.

For the return of the Warrior.

Of Light, of Darkness, it mattered not to the Exarch. Those were just titles, pretenses to be thrown away when no longer true or useful. It mattered not to him, he just wanted her. He knew she yet lived--every once in a long while he would treat with the pixies and they would peer across the rift and report on what they saw. She looked quiet and peaceful, then stressed out because of the fire that rained far in the distance, and then cold, ‘twas always so cold where she lived. When the pixies had brought word of the death of the Warrior’s husband, the Exarch had been quite certain that she would return to the First then, to escape the memories, but she did not. She was quite sad, the pixies said, but not alone. She was loved, and had many people to comfort her.

The Exarch knew not who these other people were, but still wished that she had come to him instead for comfort. Certainly he knew her better than them, and could have eased her pain much more readily than anyone else. When he had voiced his concerns to Lyna, she had smiled and patted his shoulder and told him that sometimes people did things that we did not think was best for them, and that they had to be trusted in their own judgement. He had not been oblivious to the vaguely patronizing tone to her voice. Lyna had always been quick to gently point out that the Warrior of Darkness, while a great force for good, was also not his biggest fan.

_If she wanted to visit you, she would_ , Lyna had told him. 

The Exarch had his doubts about that. He knew that being the Warrior of Light kept Summer Ruby busy. There was always someone or something trying to destroy Eorzea or the star itself, and a few of the Ascians were still lurking around in the shadows and causing trouble. The pixies had reported what sounded to him like successful Calamities--worlds that had fallen back to the Source with no great hero to protect them. The other worlds were not as fortunate as the First had been. The Warrior had not come to them and put the sky back to rights and slaughtered the Ascian that was guiding their shard to destruction. Not like on the First. The First was safe from such a horrible fate, the Warrior of Darkness had seen to it. All of the Ascian’s wicked scheming had been for naught, and the First was safe.

Still, the Exarch waited for the Warrior to return to him. He knew she would--it was her destiny, was it not? That was the whole reason behind this extravagant charade, decades and centuries of dancing around, moving the pieces just so, being parted and reunited and parted again. All so that one day, she would return to him for good.

After she and the Scions’ initial success and subsequent departure from the First, Summer Ruby had only visited a few more times. She never lingered long in the Crystarium, sometimes stopping by the library to have a friendly-- _too friendly perhaps--_ word with Moren. Then she would disappear off into the remains of the world, aetheric disturbances usually indicating that she had once again gone down into the Tempest and into the slowly decaying structures of the Ascian’s Amaurot recreation. The Exarch wondered if perhaps she felt remorse for slaying the Ascian, but Emet-Selch had been naught but a destructive nuisance and the world was certainly better off with his disposal. She need not waste her time and energy on mourning such a hateful creature. He had told her that once, on her most recent visit some eighty years ago now. The Warrior had stared at him, and he had given her a reassuring smile.

_I will always be here, when you need me_ , he had promised her.

He had kept to his word, of course. Truthfully, he sometimes wished he could follow her through the portal and back to the Source, but he knew that was not meant to be. He was tethered here to the Crystal Tower, after all, and his duties were promised here on the First.

That was not a problem. He had devised a solution, some years before, to deal with the Warrior’s reluctance to linger very long when she did visit the First. When the day finally came that she returned to him, he simply would not let her leave. He would welcome her home, wait for a lapse in her attentions, and then shut off the portal behind her. With it closed, she would not be able to return to the Source, and she would have no choice but to remain here with him, as she should have been since the Lightwardens were slain decades ago.

He should have never let her leave, the Exarch thought. Husband and child be damned, they knew nothing of her, nothing of what he had done for her, nothing of how her rightful place was at his side. He should have kept her here--it was a pity that she did not seem to appreciate how much he cared for her, how well he would treat her once she was here with him. The First, thanks to her, was a fairly peaceful place, a paradise in comparison to the Source, so fraught with endless war and violence and vulnerable to the machinations of the Ascians.

She would understand, once she was here.

He waited.

And then, one otherwise dull day on the First, the Warrior returned. Her return started precisely as the mid-day bells were chiming in Lakeland. The Exarch was in his usual place, taking tea while gazing at the empty mirror, when suddenly the surface of the glass pulsed with a shimmer of energy. He nearly dropped his tea cup, caught off guard despite his patient waiting, as there had been no such activation of the mirror from the other side in decades. He got to his feet and brushed off the front of his robes, hoping he looked presentable. His ears flexed as he reached out to the tower and made sure his snare was ready.

The portal activated and stretched to fill the circumference of the mirror’s frame, same as it had long ago. The Exarch stood in wait, feeling a pleasurable rush of excitement as he gripped his staff and waited.

The aether swirled and stretched. There was a gentle rippling of blue aether, and then a figure appeared before the portal.

The Warrior, pristine as he remembered. 

And, oh, she was still so young and beautiful! As though nary a day had passed on the Source, though he knew this not to be true. He knew nearly a century had passed, nine decades and counting, and the weight of all that time was plain in her eyes.

He opened his mouth to greet her, feeling a boyish flush of embarrassment when he realized that despite his decades of waiting, he had never really given proper consideration to what he could say upon that fateful day. His brain had always skipped over those details, and moved on quite urgently to the Warrior throwing herself into his arms and their making for the privacy of his quarters.

She did not immediately acknowledge his presence in the chamber. He watched as she closed her eyes and slowly exhaled. He took the moment to take a closer look--indeed she was just as properly trim and curvy as his memories said she was. The Warrior was unarmed, and garbed in an unadorned black cloak over a dark red coat. He noticed that on the ring finger of her left hand she wore two rings--one a silver band set with a sapphire, the other a simple coil of white gold. Distasteful, he thought, but done away with easily enough. No, she would not need any trappings of her life on the Source, not when she was here with him. In amusement, he supposed it might be awhile before she needed any attire at all.

The Warrior opened her eyes, long ears twitching once in unison before she blinked and turned to face him.

“You are still here, Exarch?” It was barely voiced as a question, more a matter of intrigue on the Warrior’s part. “I would have thought you turned to crystal decades ago, but I suppose he was right…” She looked away, mismatched eyes scanning the walls. Did she suspect his trap? He hadn’t thought her that clever.

“Welcome back, Summer,” he said, finally finding his voice. “It has been some time since last you came.”

“It has, yes.” Summer Ruby smiled thinly down at him. He had forgotten how tall she was.

“You seem different.” And she did, now that he took a moment to closer study her beyond the superficial level. “You soul… seems different.”

“Do you think so?” The Warrior’s tone was light, not quite mocking. “Perhaps you could consult the Oracle on the state of my soul.”

The Exarch swallowed. “I’m afraid that you missed her. Ryne passed away some twenty years ago, now.”

For a moment the Warrior’s expression faltered, and there was unmistakable regret on her pretty face. “I see.” She cleared her throat. “Well, then, I will have to show you myself.”

The Warrior extended her hand. In it pooled a swirling mass of aether, bright blue and nearly as brilliant as though he were staring into the very heart of an aethercrystal.

“You’ve grown stronger,” he noted. “From the Calamities on the Source.”

Summer Ruby nodded slowly. “It is a strange feeling, to be so close to complete. It makes me feel… warm inside.”

The Exarch thought he saw a brief flicker of red mixed in with the blue as she curled her fingers tight around the aether and snuffed out the blue light.

“Well. I am quite glad for you,” he said. “Though, I must admit to being a little surprised that you permitted the Calamites to occur on the Source?”

“They were not all that bad,” the Warrior murmured. She looked into her empty palm and smiled. “They were necessary. It is regrettable that sacrifice is necessary, but that is always the way of the world. A field must be cleared and cut and revitalized before anything can be grown in it, and so it is on the Source.”

The burdens of being the hero of the Source were clearly getting to the Warrior, he thought. Best that he cut that tie now, so that she could begin to recover. He would take good care of her, and--

The Exarch felt a twinge of alarm when he realized that the portal was not responding to him.

“How peculiar,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm and the hint of accusation in his tone just that--a hint. “I cannot seem to access the controls to my viewing portal. Perhaps I need rest.”

Summer Ruby hummed softly, flexing her fingers, the blue aether reappearing and illuminating the darkness of her skin. “Do not fret, old man. Soon, you will be able to rest to your heart’s content.” There was a strange fluctuation to the cadence of her speech. His grip tightened on his staff.

_An Ascian_ , he thought. _This is not Summer Ruby at all, is it. Just some Ascian pretending to be her_.

The Exarch had to admit, he had not been expecting such duplicity. Perhaps he was starting to get as old mentally as his body had long been feeling. He stared at her, trying to discern if it was the actual body of Summer Ruby before him, or simply some Ascian who had glamoured himself into her lovely visage. He could not tell.

“Is something the matter, Exarch?” The smile that crept onto her full lips was both insincere in its kindness and completely sincere and in line with the hint of malicious delight that was gleaming in her eyes. “You seem a bit pale.”

“I--I feel that one of us is not being honest with the other.”

“Bold of you to admit your indiscretions,” she said. For a moment her eyes unfocused, and her ears twitched again, as though she were trying to concentrate on a sound too far away for him to hear.

“What do you mean?”

“You mean to trap me here,” she said, blinking and refocusing her eyes on his face.

“Don’t be prepos--”

“Did you think I would not notice? That I was too dim and stupid to recognize that the aetheric flow of the connection had been tampered with?”

The Exarch did not want to admit that he had, in fact, figured she was too dense to notice the change. “No, of course not! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He gritted his teeth and decided to throw caution to the wind. “Perhaps the portal simply reacted to the fact that an _Ascian_ was attempting to pass as the Warrior of Light.”

Her red brows lifted in unison, though worryingly she looked less shocked and more amused at his words. “An Ascian? Do you truly think so poorly of the hero that you have lusted after for decades, to think so lowly of me now? Do you not recall the words in the tomes that you have pored over? The Echo held by the Warrior of Light prevents her from being tempered by primals and possessed by Ascians. Her will is ever her own.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“An imposter, then,” said the Exarch. “Though, I know not whom. Elidibus, perhaps, to be able to make a glamour so thorough.”

She laughed. “Oh, dear no. Elidibus has better things to do with his time. Even now he is busy coordinating his efforts with Emet-Selch to open the gateway on the ruins of the 13th.”

“The--what--then you are an Ascian, to know such--” He blinked. “ _Emet-Selch_? That is impossible! He was slain nigh on a century ago by the Warrior of Darkness.”

Summer Ruby’s smile brightened, and the Exarch felt a dark pang of envy at not being the cause of the lovely look that appeared on her face. “Indeed, I did kill him. But, I did not destroy him completely. He has been among the living again for a long time, since the days I returned here to bring Y’shtola back to the Source.”

The Exarch felt cold. “That is impossible. You are lying, and you are most certainly not the Warrior of Darkness. She would never say such hateful things!”

The smile fell from her expression, replaced by a grimacing glower. “What would you know of my life and what I find hateful? You never cared then, you only cared about your plans and your stupid, selfish heroic dreams.” She bore her teeth. “You did not care what it did to me, how it hurt me, how it nearly killed me and ripped my soul into tatters, all for your precious cause!”

“I-That isn’t--Summer--” He yelped as she grabbed him by the front of his robes and lifted him off his feet.

“ _Do you think I have forgiven you for what you have done to me_?” growled the Warrior. His ears fell flat against his head in terror. He dropped his staff and clawed at her hands, trying to free himself from her grip.

“I never meant to hurt you, surely you must know that!”

“And neither did you care! I would have been better off had you put a bow on me and given me to the Ascians straightaway, that would have prevented a lot of suffering! At least _they_ are capable of actually giving a damn about their own.”

She dropped him--no, threw him was nearly the right word for it--and took several heavy steps away. From the hard floor he could hear her inhale and exhale deeply several times.

“Come on, we talked about this,” she murmured. “Deep breaths. Stay focused. You can do this.” Another round of deep breaths. 

From where he had crumpled on the floor, the Exarch wondered how his plans had gone so awry. “Why… what have you done, Summer? Why did you side with the Ascians, why are you here now?”

The Warrior’s expression had nearly calmed when she turned to look down at him. “Ah. I suppose I can tell you that much. You’ll be dead soon; no one will fuss.”

_Dead._ “What?”

She flourished a hand out to the side. “It is as Emet-Selch told us long ago. Those that live now bear only little shards of souls that existed in the time of Amaurot. At least, those of us lucky to have such souls at all, and not the tiny, transient souls that were born from the aether after the Sundering. When I left the First, it was with 9 shards of my soul intact, and those shards were enough to awaken and _remember_.”

“He was lying to you!” The Ascian had to have been lying, manipulating the truth, to get them to cooperate with his schemes.

Summer Ruby smiled, lips pulled thin and smug. “You may go to your grave believing that, Exarch, and I do not care.” For a moment she lifted her hand to her face, and when she pulled it away, there was a flash of aether and an ornate red glyph glowed over her face. It was like that of an Ascian, though none that the Exarch had seen or read of before.

“What is that, what are you--”

The Warrior’s voice was firm with determination when she spoke. “I am the Matrisiram, the Keeper of the Ways, and the fourteenth seat of the Convocation. I have come to be the anchor in this shard, and to bring the Light to the Source.”

The Exarch became aware of a faint, distant trembling in the ground beneath him. Something tremendous and violent, and rapidly drawing in closer. He stretched and grabbed at his staff, using it to drag his half unresponsive body to its feet. 

“What Light? Summer, you vanquished the Light on this world.”

“And it has had a century to be rebuilt and recovered, gathered away on the other side of this polluted star, out of sight and unknown by those that might interrupt its course.”

He grimaced in pain. “All the hopes and dreams of this world, that you fought to save, that I have sworn to protect. You would dash them, and for what?” 

Her stare was cold and blank as the glyph faded. Then her long ears twitched slightly, and her lips pulled into a careful smile. Even now, it made his heart clench to see it. This was not how it was supposed to have gone. 

“It has already been done,” Summer Ruby said in a calm tone. “The Light is coming, and this time no one will stem the tide. I have merely come to be the anchor, and to relieve you of your duties.”

He shook his head. “What have they done to you?”

“Nothing untoward, I assure you. Nothing against my own will. No lies, no facts conveniently omitted, no duplicity. A simple and straightforward goal.”

He shook his head. “No, ‘tis impossible! The Summer Ruby I know would not do that!”

Her lips quirked again. “The Summer Ruby you knew was naught but a hero in a book. You never knew me at all. You never really tried.” 

The tiles beneath his feet began to crack with the force of the vibration coursing through them. Summer Ruby took a step backwards, towards the mirror. Aether gleamed along her palms, and licked out to the surface of the mirror. Through his connection to the tower, he could feel something warp, something change dangerously, but it was too late for him to undo what she had done. 

“Fear not, G’raha Tia,” she said. She took a step backward, and the surface of the mirror shimmered and crackled. “You will live again someday. And, should you find me then, you are free to voice your grievances with me then.” 

“No--” 

The Warrior stepped through the mirror, and was gone. 

And then, there was only Light.


	14. Kiss

_ Prompt 14:  _ Kiss

_ Timeframe:  _ Ancient Amaurot

  
  


“We could go back to my apartment,” Rigel says. She can tell from the way his aether flutters against hers that he is trying to act casual while feeling incredibly nervous.

She sighs. “It isn’t that I don’t want you to see my apartment. It’s just standard lodgings. I just…”

He makes an inquiring noise, but does not press. “It’s okay. We can go to my place.”

Persephone laces her fingers together as they walk. “It’s just, sometimes Hades goes to my apartment on his own. To get away from Hythlo.”

Rigel chuckles. “Well, we all have a friend that tires us out.”

“Hades would say that he has two,” she quips. Rigel grins down at her.

“Now, Miss Percy,” he says in a teasing tone. “What sort of example are you setting for you students if you are giving your closest friend a hard time?”

“We’re just looking out for him,” she says. “Hades thinks too much. He’s far too serious for his own good. And so we just, you know, try to put a smile on his face.”

“By getting on his nerves?”

“Well…” She shrugs and adjusts her mask. “Like I said. He’s too serious. You can’t tell him a joke; it will go right over his head because he’ll be too busy trying to over analyze it. And don’t even get me started on puns.”

“Ah, I see.”

“He knows we don’t really mean any harm, but sometimes he does get a little cross. More with his roommate.”

“And, how long have they been roommates?”

“Oh, I don’t know. What year is it?” She smiles up at him, and Rigel laughs.

“Then your dear Hades sounds like a glutton for your attention, regardless of how he gets it.”

She nods, and follows Rigel as he turns down a side street to take a different route to his apartment.

“I don’t mind giving him attention.”

Rigel smiles. “Of course not. Love is always glad to make time for love.”

Rigel’s apartment is small, meant for single occupancy, but he still waves an arm proudly at the diminutive space as they enter. He has only lived here for two months, since graduating, and chosen the new location as it is closer to the Akademia. Persephone looks around the sitting room, admiring the pale sunny yellow that he has colored the walls.

“What do you think?” he asks. “I just finished with moving in the last of my things the other day.”

“It’s cozy,” she says. He laughs.

“I know, it’s small. But it has a lovely view of the river, and a porch!”

“How big is the bed?” she asks, and smiles at the flustered noise that escapes him.

“Ah--uh--big enough, certainly!” Rigel clears his throat and gestures to a glass door. “Do you want to see the view, before the sun goes down?”

“Lead the way.”

He hurries over to the door and slides it open. Immediately her ears are met with the sounds of the late afternoon--voices chiming and laughing far below, birds singing to each other from their perches, and the sound of someone playing music from one of the nearby buildings. She follows him out onto the porch. It is a simple affair, taken up primarily by a wooden bench that is barely large enough to fit two people. The remainder of the space is occupied by a potted plant--a small decorative tree, in fact. She perches on the edge of the bench and looks at the plant, and realizes after taking a proper look at it that she recognizes the plant.

“Do you like it?” Rigel asks. “I conjured it myself, from a concept one of my professors gave me.”

“Of course I like it,” she says, reaching to brush her fingers through the small gray-green leaves and down the thin trunk. The bark is predominantly a dark gray, but shows a bright blue underneath where the bark cracks and peels. “It’s based on one of my own concepts.”

He grins, cheeks pinking visible under the edge of his mask. “It might be.” 

“It’s a solid creation. I like the little flourish you added with the bark.”

He makes a happy noise in his throat as she gets back to her feet. They both look out over the porch railing. Many stories below, at the relative ground level, the surface of a river glistens in the light of the afternoon sun.

“Pretty,” she murmurs.

“Just like you,” he says. Rigel takes her hand and guides her back inside. “You’re welcome to visit here when you want to. I mean, if you want to.”

“Really?”

“Sure!” Rigel looks thoughtful for a moment. “I mean, I’m sure sometimes you need a break from being around Hades and his roommate. Or your work or whatever.”

“Yes, I suppose I do.”

He looks around the small sitting room. “Do you want to see the bedroom?”

She blushes. “Now, Rigel, I’m not sure we’ve really been seeing each other long enough to--”

“It’s been nearly half a year,” he says in gentle protest. “You can look, at least.”

“Alright.”

The bedroom is just as small a space as the rest of the apartment, barely big enough for the bed and clothes cabinet. There is another door on the far wall, presumably leading to the bathroom.

“You could have requested a bigger space,” she says. Rigel shrugs his broad shoulders.

“Perhaps, when I need it.” He takes her hands and flops back onto the bedspread, dragging her down with him. Persephone gasps and squirms out of his grip, nearly falling off the bed in the process.

“Persephone?” He hooks his big hands through her elbows and pulls her in for a hug. “Talk to me, please.”

She squeezes her eyes shut, forehead pressing against the smooth fabric that covers his shoulder. “I just feel guilty.”

“Guilty?” Rigel is quiet, then murmurs: “Do you think we should stop seeing each other? Perhaps it would be the best option, so you don’t--”

“No!” She opens her eyes and looks up at him, takes in the gentle warmth that dwells in his eyes. “I don’t want to stop seeing you, Rigel! I--” She turns her face away.

“He is your best friend, and you love him, and you don’t want to hurt his feelings. And you want him to love you back, and hold you in his arms and tell you how very precious you are to him. Even though you’ve known him your whole life and you  _ know _ how precious you are to him.”

Persephone feels the sting of tears at the corners of her eyes and nods.

“You didn’t have to be so succinct, but yes.”

“Well. Well, perhaps he should not be so craven.” Rigel frowns and shakes his head. “I understand how he feels. I want to love you, too. But I--I don’t want to take having you for granted.”

She wants to argue with the young man, to tell him that he is wrong, but she doesn’t. Part of her knows, deep down, that he is right. Something warm flutters in her breast at his words.

“I--I want to give loving you a chance, too, Rigel.” She thinks of the years she spent dating Hythlodaeus. It was never a serious thing, never romantic. More just an excuse to have a good time and try to bring Hades around to asking her out. They had been young then, and the ready sexual partner had also been a bonus, but… “I’ve never really dated someone in a romantic sense before.”

Rigel looks surprised. “What, really? Someone as brilliant as you?”

She shrugs. “I’ve just been busy with my studies and teaching. And, well, waiting for Hades.”

He stares at her, and then shakes his head. “Oh, that won’t do. You should always be able to make some time for yourself, even if you’re very busy with your work.”

“Are you going to stare at children’s concepts, then?” she asks with a laugh. “Help me with my workload?”

Rigel blushes. “I don’t think I’m qualified for that. Not yet, at least. But I will certainly do my best to make you want to take a break from grading and lectures now and then.”

“You’ll do that for someone who feels like she has to keep you as her little secret? Who is afraid of ruining her relationship with her best friend?”

“I think I can manage that.” Rigel smiles broadly, and the corners of his eyes pinched as he laughs. “I’ve never been anyone’s dirty little secret before.”

“Ah--” She flusters in protest. “There’s nothing dirty about it, Rigel. About how I feel for you. I just--” Her objections fail in her throat as Rigel continues laughing. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, the way you look. The way your soul shines. Your love is blinding, Persephone.” He rubs at his eyes. “I would be truly honored to share that love with you.”

“You… would?”

“Of course.” Rigel smiles and takes her cheeks in his hands. His aether is pleasant against her skin, and she is distracted enough by the sensation that she does not realize what Rigel is doing when he leans in and presses his lips to hers. She gasps softly, and he kisses her again, soft on the corner of her mouth.

“But what if--what if Hades--”

“If Hades changes his mind and decides to pursue you, I will let him,” Rigel whispers. “And I will leave the choice of what to do up to you, as it is your heart and your life, Persephone.” He kisses the other corner of her mouth. “But perhaps he won’t. I will not sit on my chance and wait for a ‘what if’. I’d still like to be with you, now.”

She does not understand how he can be so relaxed with his own heart. “You would take that chance?”

“A thousand times over, and another thousand times after that. I too know what it feels like to long for you for years, Persephone.” His breath tickles against her lips. “But I am far less inclined to sit around and wonder what could be, what might be, when I could simply just find out.”

“Even if it is something we must keep secret for now?”

“I do not need the rest of the star to know of my love to validate it.” His lips feather against hers. “Please, Persephone. I offer you my hand.”

Persephone thinks of Hades and Hythlodaeus. Would they love her less for moving on from them? She isn’t sure, and does not want to think that they would.

And then, a thought occurs to her. She cannot be beholden to the whims of her best friends. She has to be her own person. She has the right to listen to the part of her heart that wants something more, something different.

Persephone swallows and nods. “Then, I accept it, Rigel.”

His smile is as brilliant as the sun sparkling on the river below. “Thank you, Persephone.”

She rises up and kisses him.


	15. Keep

_Prompt 15:_ Keep

 _Timeframe:_ HH +18 years

  
  


“Are you sure you want to do this, to go here?” Emet-Selch asked again. “I know I need not remind you, but if you feel any pull it is your body reacting, not your soul.”

“I know.” Summer Ruby sighed. “The soul that first inhabited this body has been gone for more than twenty years. And even the body now is…” She lifted her hand and studied the cocoa colored skin visible at the end of her gloves. “Barely recognizable as such.”

Emet-Selch chuckled. “You look at your lovely arm and not the rather conspicuously different Viera ears.”

“Ah.” She blushed. “Yes, I suppose those are more obviously different.” She looked at Emet-Selch, who was masked in his usual Elezen glamour. “Do you think I should change my eye color, perhaps? Or my hair? I don’t--my-- _her_ mother was very keen of insight.”

He made a thoughtful noise. “Perhaps. That is a rather _distinctive_ shade of red, I must admit.” Emet-Selch snapped his fingers, and the hair blowing into her face faded to white. “Temporary, I assure you. Don’t need to give your boys a panic.”

“White, really?”

He waved a hand. “It contrasts nicely with your skin tone. Don’t question my artistic sensibilities.”

Summer Ruby smiled at him. “You’re lucky that I’m not feeling extremely argumentative right now.”

“Indeed.” The Ascian shaded his eyes with a gloved hand and squinted at the horizon. “Are you certain this is the right location? I see only scrub and very large rocks.”

“Of course I’m sure. You’re facing the wrong way.” She grabbed his shoulders and pivoted him away from the brightness of the sun.

“Hm?” Emet-Selch tilted his head back. “Ah, so I see.”

The pair stood at the base of a broken volcanic summit. Black plumes of smoke billowed up from beyond their line of sight. A meager footpath led up the side of the mountain. Summer Ruby observed the thin layer of ash that had gathered on the path.

“They haven’t had visitors recently,” she said. “Or if they did it was by air.” She smirked at her companion. “Or hellsmouth.” She started up the path.

Emet-Selch chuckled and shook his head as he followed her. “Do you think they’ll mind a few curious tourists? Or should we say we’re from one of the Ul’dahan death cults?”

“They’re not death--” She closed her mouth. “Are there death cults in Ul’dah?”

“Of course there are. They worship Nald’thal.”

“You’re well versed.”

“Mm, when I have reason to be. As a fellow overseer of the Underworld…” Emet-Selch trailed off. “You were Hellsguard, yes?”

“That’s right. My ancestors believed that the volcanic vents here were actually pathways to the Underworld. So they decided to stay near them and work to deter any adventurous spirits from leaving the place the were supposed to be.” She stopped to catch her breath near the crest of the ridge.

“Yes, I’ve heard variations on the story before.” Emet-Selch paused to stoop and brush his fingers through the fine ash. “In the ancient stories of Garlemald, one of the Roegadyn tribes that were absorbed by the early army were of a Hellsguard culture. Good mages.”

“Can’t manipulate people if you don’t know their histories, right?”

“Oh, don’t hold it against me, sweetheart. It was for the greater good.”

The Warrior of Light shrugged and continued on. Over the edge of the ridge they spotted a village nestled in the basin between two long exploded volcanoes. Summer Ruby was surprised by the state of the village--many of the old stone structures looked to be in disrepair.

“I must admit, I expected more of a welcoming party.”

The village was nearly silent as they approached. Two dusty chocobos stood in their pen, whistling to each other and occasionally drinking from a wooden tub. A fire burned in a cooking pit, and there was the distinct smell of bread baking from within.

“This place almost looks deserted,” Summer Ruby observed. “Strange. Her memory indicates that this place was at least somewhat decently populated when she and her sister ran away to Costa del Sol.”

“How long ago was that?”

She shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. More than thirty years, now.” She squinted and slowly turned in a circle. “Do you see anyone, Hades?”

Emet-Selch hummed as he looked around. “One lone soul, off near the vents. That seems to be all.”

“I suppose it would be rude of us to come all the way here and not at least make greetings.”

“Lead the way, Warrior.”

The chocobos whistled curiously at the pair as they crossed through the village. Along the way toward the vents, they passed a small graveyard. Summer Ruby paused, eyes scanning the carved black stones. She gestured at one near the back of the yard.

“That was Summer Ruby’s father. He died a few years after she and her sister left.”

Emet-Selch peered at the stone. He muffled a soft laugh with his hand. “Your father’s name was _Singing Nutkin_?”

“It’s a perfectly respectable name.”

“For a Roegadyn, I suppose so.” After a minute he managed to suppress the amused smirk that had appeared on his face. “What do you know of him?”

“Nice man. A healer. He patched up my mother whenever she got herself into trouble.”

“And your mother..?” The Ascian looked toward the other headstones.

“I suspect she might be the soul you saw by the vents.”

“You think so?”

“She was the sort of woman with no time for death. That, and I don’t see her name on these stones.”

They continued on. Summer Ruby grimaced at the unpleasant, sulfuric smell that drifted from the vents. Emet-Selch made a face, but she noticed that he seemed distracted as they walked along the well-worn path of stones.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Your people may have indeed been onto something. I sense a crack in the bedrock that rests above the Lifestream far below, just enough for a bit to leak up through the vents--”

“Who goes there?” A loud female voice barked ahead of them.

Emet-Selch flinched. He whispered: “Oh, she’s _good_.”

“Yeah, that’s my mother.” Summer Ruby cleared her throat and called back. “We’re come from Ishgard, looking for the gatekeeper. An Onyx Lily?”

A figure advanced out of the sulfuric steam, and Summer Ruby heard Emet-Selch’s breath catch in his throat. It was a Roegadyn woman, easily as tall as Zenos, skin bronzed where it was not covered by leather. She had long black hair, streaked with ashy gray, that was bound back in a thick braid that fell nearly to her rear. On her shoulder rested a massive black battleaxe, as long as Emet-Selch was tall. Something stirred in the worn corners of memories that did not belong to the woman currently living in Summer Ruby’s body.

“I would be Onyx Lily.” The woman’s dark blue eyes shifted between the visitors. “If you’re tax collectors, I told the See we won’t be paying any more tithe.”

“‘We’?” Emet-Selch echoed curiously. The woman rolled her eyes.

“Me. And the bleedin’ chocobos. If not for the taxes, then why did Ishgard send a woodwarden and a pretty boy after me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, we weren’t _sent_ by the See, we just live there.”

The woman blinked. “Oh.” She looked at Emet-Selch, black brows furrowing. “What, then? I can’t stand here chit-chatting all day, I’ve got vents to mind.”

“Indeed,” chimed Emet-Selch. “They do seem quite busy today, don’t they?” He looked at one of the steaming plumes. “Do you have much trouble with the spirits here?”

“I--” Onyx Lily hesitated, dark eyes searching his face as though expecting mockery. Finding only serious inquiry there, she said: “Not as much as in the days when Ishgard was still at war with the dragons. Fewer restless souls that need scaring back to where they belong.”

“And have you been guarding these vents long?”

She shifted the axe on her shoulder. “More than fifty summers, now.”

“And, all alone?”

The woman frowned. “Wasn’t alone until last year. Our numbers have dwindled over time. No one wants to stick it out here anymore. I can’t really blame the young ones.”

“You are quite brave, to stay out here alone.”

Onyx Lily snorted. “You’re the first people to come out here in weeks, and the spirits don’t give me any trouble. It’s lonesome, sure, but it’s nothing that takes any bravery.”

Emet-Selch smiled sweetly up at her. “All the same, you truly are doing Nald’thal’s work out here. He is quite pleased with you.”

She looked surprised and puffed up a bit. “I’ve never heard any complaints.”

“Well, that is why we’re out here, you see.”

“He had a vision,” Summer Ruby said in a practiced tone of disbelieving boredom.

“A vision?”

“A dream, a vision, it matters not which. You see, I’m a faithful of Nald’thal myself, and he sent a vision to me while I slept. He told me of you, Onyx Lily, faithful keeper of the Burning Mountains. He wanted me to bring you this in thanks for your many years of toiling.” Emet-Selch produced a small leather pouch from inside of the billowy sleeve of his tunic. The surface of the bag was embroidered with a cowry shell, and its contents clinked as he held it in offering.

The woman hesitated. “I don’t need any coin.”

He smiled gently. “‘Tis no coin, my good woman. The gods know you do not work for coin, but for the safety of man and soul alike.” He gestured again with the bag, and she carefully took it.

Inside were ten black candles with blood red wicks.

“Candles?”

“Blessed by the gods themselves,” Emet-Selch said. “When a time comes and you feel the need of some reprieve, you are to light the candles and think of your loved ones. For as long at the candles burn, the spirits here will leave you in peace, and you may spend a bit of your waking hours with your heart lightened.”

“I’ve heard of this magic,” whispered Onyx Lily. “I am not certain that I desire such generosity, but if it is the gods’ wish, then I am thankful for it.”

Emet-Selch smiled. “I am certain they will know of your gratitude.”

They did not stay long afterwards, as the old Roegadyn was reluctant to let her duties lapse for too great a while.

“That was suspiciously kind of you, Hades,” Summer Ruby murmured once they were out of earshot. He scoffed and waved a hand.

“It was the least I could do for such a fine lady. You didn’t tell me your mother was a gorgeous mountain of a woman, Percy. Even at her age, she could still easily break me with her bare hands.” He sighed wistfully.

Summer Ruby smirked. “I didn’t know you had that kink.”

His pale cheeks darkened. “Truth be told, neither did I.”


	16. Whimsy

_Prompt 16:_ Whimsy

 _Timeframe:_ Ancient Amaurot

  
He did not have actual cause to visit the many gardens of the Praeta Primaria very often, as anything dealing with concepts was usually tended to within the school’s offices and not the exterior complex. However, the Primaria was one of Amaurot’s primary places of education for the _creative_ part of creation arts, and so the gardens were full of a wide and unusual variety of towering trees and smaller plantlife. His dear Percy had begun working at the Primaria not long after she graduated from school herself, teaching the basics of the arts to the brightest and most inquisitive of the city’s hatchlings.

Percy herself was beginning to make something of a name for herself as a creator of trees--perhaps not a task that was all that difficult to ascend the ranks in as there was not that much competition for excellence. Flowers were far more popular objects of artistic expression, while the great towering trees that filled the city’s gardens and dotted walkways were often viewed more as backgrounds. That had not stopped Persephone, of course. They were only halfway through their ages of schooling when she had become taken by the idea of crafting lovely trees. She was a dutifully gifted mage herself, nowhere near as powerful as Hades (but who could hope to be?) but just as dedicated to her craft. It was her work on a lovely sort of weeping willow with beautiful silvery leaves that evaporated when they fell that had earned Percy her place on the Praeta Primaria staff. 

And so he was on the grounds now, looking for his friend in hopes of luring her off campus to grab a spot of lunch. However, he could not find her. He reached something of a dead end-- a place in one of the gardens where work was being done, and half sculpted plants were glimmering in plots marked out with lengths of golden thread. 

Hythlodaeus stopped at one of the plots and glanced around. There were residual bits of Percy’s aether all over the place--half shredded leaves and bits of bark and branch that all gleamed with familiar blue aether when he focused on them--but no sight of the woman herself. There was a tree present, its dusty blue bark reaching skyward and disappearing into a dense dark blue canopy. He tilted his head back.

Persephone was up in the tree.

He supposed he should have expected as much. In becoming a tree artist, she had adapted a basic learned mage form into something more suitable for working in a vertical space, adding on a pair of glossy wings and a raven’s head for flourish. It was much smaller than Hades’ mage form, but Hythlodaeus thought it still quite charming. However, the bubble of aether he could see darting around the branches high above was too small for this. Her advanced mage form, then, he supposed, she must really be trying to finish work on the tree if she was pushing herself like that.

Hythlodaeus lifted his fingers to his mouth and whistled. “Here pretty bird! Here girl!”

There was a pause in the motion above. A stray leaf drifted down on the warm mid-day air and landed at his feet. Hythlodaeus stooped to collect the leaf. No, not a leaf, he realized, but a feather, the exact same color as the tree’s foliage. Another one of her artistic tricks--using the feathers of her wings to boost the aetheric input she had to use on her art.

Far above, he heard a gutteral croak: “Lo.”

“Yes, sweetheart, it’s me!” Hythlodaeus smiled and held his arms wide. “Why don’t you come down here and see me, Percy? I wanted to go to lunch!”

There was rustling in the branches, and he watched her progress as she hopped around on the delicate upper boughs.

“Lo, lo.”

“It’s lovely work, Percy. Did someone order a blue tree? Is the sap blue, too? That would make for some interesting resin. Imagine what we could make with blue resin!” He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on his chin.

He heard a faint _crack_ , and then a large chunk of bark landed right behind him in the dirt.

“Were you trying to hit me? That’s rude, darling.” Hythlodaeus picked up the bark. Turning it over, he saw that the lifeblood, while to him still visibly tinted by Persephone’s aether, was a dark red. “Oh my, red resin? That’s morbid…”

“You’re irritating her,” a voice said off to his side. “She’s trying to concentrate, Hythlo, why must you be such a bother?”

He grinned and looked over to the scowling visage of his roommate. “I could ask you much the same, dear Hades.”

“I had a lunch appointment with Percy, if you must know.” Hades crossed his arms over his chest and looked into the tree.

“You made an _appointment_?” Hythlodaeus laughed. “That’s almost like a date, Hades.”

His friend just grunted. “It’s a lovely tree. She’s getting better at pinnatifid leaf shapes.”

“She tells _you_ about her trees projects?”

“Of course she does,” Hades said with an airy sniff. “I’m her best friend.”

“Oh, indeed, my dear.” Hythlodaeus grinned anew.

Hades sighed and cleared his throat before calling skyward. “Percy! It’s time for lunch!” He held his left arm out perpendicular to his body.

There was a fresh burst of movement from the canopy. The voice above crowed: “Hay! Hay!”

“Why doesn’t she talk normally when she’s like that?”

“Keeping the form takes almost all of her concentration. It’s very taxing for her, sadly.”

“She does make a charming corvid.”

After a moment, the form of a large raven with blue wings descended from the canopy. It handed heavily on Hades’ outstretched arm. After cheerfully croaking a few times, the bird deposited a collection of glossy blue leaves into the folds of Hades’ robe before dropping down to the ground. 

Hades picked up one of the offered leaves and held it up to the sun. “My, Hythlo, look at the veinwork on these! She really has been outdoing herself again.”

Hythlodaeus smiled as he watched the bird hop along the ground, scattered tree debris dissolving into blue aether that absorbed back into her body. “Hers is a dedication to finer concepts that we should aspire toward, dear Hades.”

His friend’s cheeks pinked. “Yes, just so.” Hades tucked the leaves away into his robes. “Percy, do you mind permitting Hythlodaeus to join us for lunch? He was down here pining over you again.”

The raven clattered her beak. “Hay. Lo. Hullo.”

There was a shimmer and burst of aether as Persephone emerged from her diminutive mage form and returned to her normal state. Her cheeks were rosy with exertion and her red hair tangled in disarray before she hurriedly adjusted the front of her mask and pulled up her cowl. When this was done, Hades immediately reached out and grabbed her right hand with his left. A placid smile slipped through his usually sour mien.

“Sorry, Hades, I got so wrapped up in finishing this commission, I lost track of time.”

“Quite alright.”

She looked up at Hythlodaeus. “Are you paying for lunch, Hythlo?”

He could only smile at them. “Of course, of course. My treat.”


	17. Home + Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Due to moving, I chose to combine my prompts for yesterday and today. Smush smush. Cuddles!

_Prompt 17+18:_ Home+Healing

 _Timeframe:_ HH +9 years

Aymeric was surrounded by howling on all sides. There was the howling of the woods, circling and snarling and calling for more aid, hungry and keen on the scent of blood from the unfortunate knight in training that they had already slain. Wherever the wolves were not there was snow, blowing with blinding ferocity and cutting into every place that he was not completely covered. He knew they would say that it was a foolish way to die--to go out into a completely white-out blizzard in search of a squire who was likely already dead. But Aymeric could not help but think of his own son in this situation. He knew the lost squire’s parents quite well, and knew how they would suffer or his loss. What if that were Merle, some ten years from now, suffering and dying alone? He couldn’t bear the thought.

And so he had gone out into the snow, led the search team himself. It was in getting separated from the others that he had in fact located the young hyur. But the wolves had already found the squire first, and were busy snapping at each other over his remains when he arrived. He had killed a few of the hounds, and driven the rest off, but when alone he had quickly realized that he was lost. Like the squire, he could not find his way in the blinding power of the Fury, and was reluctant to move lest he blindly stumble into one of the gorges he knew to be in the area. 

Now the wolves had returned, greater in number, and ready for a feast.

He summoned what strength the cold had not sapped from him and raised his sword. It hefted with tremendous weight in his hands, as though he were naught but a young Temple Knight again. He prayed: _Halone, please, spare me your wrath._

Steaming snouts were visible at the edges of his vision. Growls and snarls and--the sound of a whistle? Piercing over the din of the blizzard, the sound caught Aymeric off guard. The wolves as well, as the snouts all shifted to try and discern the source of the noise. Another whistle, then the yelping cry of a wolf, and an explosion of snow that nearly knocked Aymeric from his meager footing.

And then--

He was warm, painfully so, heat coming from seemingly all directions, from outside and within. His fingers burned, his ears burned, and the skin of his face felt like it might crack apart were he to flex his muscles too far. A soft warmth brushed against his forehead, soothing away some of the pain. Breath, he realized. Shifting his weight as much as he could manage--very little before his muscles seized in protest--Aymeric realized that he was in his smallclothes and wrapped in a blanket. 

Not in the snow, then. Not being torn to pieces. That is, assuming that the Lifestream was not a very peculiar place.

Aymeric cracked his eyes open. There was a soft, warm glow of light behind him, and it shone upon the sharp features of what he knew to be the most beautiful face in all of Eorzea.

“Shh, it’s alright. You’re safe.” His wife’s voice was gentle against his weary senses.

“What?” was all Aymeric could immediately force out for a question.

“You are determined to die a brave hero’s death, and not die an old man in your bed, aren’t you?” There was a gentle rebuke in Summer Ruby’s voice. 

“No, I--the boy-” His eyes stung. 

“He was already dead, we know.” There was such bottomless kindness in the voice of the Warrior of Light that it made his heart ache. She moved against him, and he felt the rough skin of her fingertips smooth over the back of his arms. “There was nothing you could do, my love. It is not your fault.”

Aymeric whispered: “He got lost.”

“As did you, hm?”

“How…”

“You will have to ask Zenos. He is the one who found you.”

He tried to think back to his near-fatal encounter with the wolves. It was difficult to do so--he could only remember the whiteness and the endless howling. Something had distracted the wolves, but what?

Aymeric tore his gaze from his wife’s face for long enough to look around. He was on his side, and she was facing him, arms gently cradling his form. The soft pale blue sheets with their faint smell of lavender were familiar, along with the carved headboard that loomed above them. Home, then. For once his injuries had not landed him in the infirmary.

As if sensing his thoughts, she said: “The chirurgeon decided that you did not sustain any serious injuries, perhaps a bit of snowburn on your extremities. Nothing that could not be sufficiently soothed and warmed away in the comfort of your own home.”

That was almost suspiciously kind of the man, Aymeric thought. He wondered if his wife had anything to do with that decision. He could easily imagine her trying to intimidate the man into agreeing that the Lord Commander would be fine in a day or two if he was simply allowed to be taken home and cuddled by his wife until he warmed up and thawed out. And warm she was, close to his front, her body heat as soothing as any healer’s spell.

And yet, there was something--a warmth behind him in the bed as well. A dense, saturating sort of heat that brooked no resistance. Its source was not quite touching him, separated by a thick blanket and an ilm of decency, but it was close enough to turn the Elezen’s face hot with the realization.

“ _Zenos_?” he hissed in question. His wife smiled at him.

“Not so loud, you’ll wake him.”

“Why?”

“I insisted upon it, if you must fret so.” Again her fingers brushed over his skin. “You were half frozen, Aymeric. You needed to warm up, and there’s only so much I can do on my own without just setting you on fire.”

Aymeric was uncertain that being set on fire by his wife was not preferable to being _cuddled_ by Zenos Galvus.

“He was a bit chilled himself, to be honest,” she murmured, and he was aware of her hand leaving his arm to reach and touch the Garlean’s side. “After he brought you back to the infirmary, he returned to where he had found you to retrieve the body of that poor squire.” She sighed. “So, I thought he deserved a little warming up, himself. But, I can send him away whenever he rouses.”

Aymeric closed his eyes. “No.” It was not something he could permit, not in good conscience. He doubted that the vague unease that Zenos’ presence caused him would ever entirely vacate his psyche, but he could also not fault the man’s behavior since he had become a citizen of Ishgard. Zenos’ strength and tenacity, wielded as an indulgence for their beloved Warrior of Light, had already done many things to help keep Ishgard and its people safe. Even Zenos deserved kindness, Aymeric thought.

“You sent him…?”

“Hm? We were both in the group that went out to find you and the first rescue party. Everyone is back in the city, alive and mostly well, but for the squire. Zenos sensed your aether and followed it off on his own.” She smiled. “I don’t think we could’ve found you in time on our own; you had veered too far off the beaten trail.”

Aymeric was surprised. Zenos could have easily looked away, not hared off to find him, and let him die. But he had not. Perhaps something virtuous of Summer Ruby had rubbed off on the man. 

“He cares about you, Aymeric,” she said.

“Because of you.”

“It’s a start, don’t you think? Especially for a man like him.”

Aymeric sighed. “I suppose.”

Behind him, a sleepy noise rumbled in the Garlean’s chest. The man adjusted his long frame under the heavy down-stuffed quilt that covered them, and rolled further on his side until his chin was pressed lightly to the back of Aymeric’s skull and a muscular arm draped across his hip. For a moment Aymeric tensed, but Zenos moved no further. Considering their relative positions, it was possible he was reaching for Summer Ruby in his sleep.

“He doesn’t get super-squeezy in his sleep,” said his wife. “You’ll be fine.”

“As you say.” Aymeric rested his forehead against her shoulder.

Summer Ruby smiled and hugged him closer. “Rest well, love.”

When Aymeric woke hours later, still safely pressed between the Warrior of Light and Zenos Galvus, he had to admit that he did feel much improved.

Very warm, at least.


	18. Judgement

_Prompt 19:_ Judgement

_Timeframe_ : Year 90

The sound of Emet-Selch’s snap was still registering in her brain when she was aware of the shift in the air around her. Summer Ruby reflexively gasped, still not quite used to the suddenness of the transportation despite having experienced it many times before. She squeezed at Zenos’ hand, and did not open her eyes until she felt him return the gesture. It was not the most necessary of gestures--at this point their souls tended to nearly meld together whenever they were in close enough proximity--but she still found it a comfort.

She looked first up at Zenos. His long silvered hair was pulled back from his face in a braid, but enough strands had come loose to make him look pleasantly mussed. He was looking around, but seemed to sense her gaze and looked down at her. He flashed a smile. When she smiled back, Summer Ruby heard an exasperated sigh off to her side.

“Honestly, do you two have to do those lovey-dovey gooey eyes at each other whenever I’m around you?” Emet-Selch was pulling an exasperated grimace at them.

“Yes,” Zenos said in a deadpan. “In fact, I make a point of only doing it when you are around, old man.”

“Truly, the two of you can behave. I know you can.” Summer Ruby shook her head. “Now, where did you bring us?”

“To the appointed place, of course.”

The Warrior of Light looked around. They were in the middle of an arid landscape that reminded her somewhat of the Burn, or at least what she could recall with the passage of decades. It had the same dry, drained feeling as that wasteland, though the grasses and other small plants that clung to the scattered ruins showed that it was not quite entirely devoid of life.

“I know this place,” Zenos said. His expression was flat, an unsettling reminder of how he had faced the world in his youth.

“Do you?” Emet-Selch sounded genuinely curious.

“Not in a complete sense, but in a…” Still gripping his wife’s hand, Zenos half turned to look at the broken buildings that they stood amidst. “The Imperial winter palace was here.” He cut his eyes in the direction of Emet-Selch. “You brought me here a few times when I was very small, and my father was away doing his duty for the Empire.” He frowned. “For what all that mattered.”

“It mattered, the Empire mattered. It was an important part of our plans.” The Ascian sighed. “Did you really have to bring him along?”

“Yes,” was all that Summer Ruby said in response. “Now, why here?”

“Because, after intense study and deliberating, the judgement has been made that this will be the starting point of the next two calamities.” The words were not spoken by Emet-Selch, but by a voice from behind the trio.

“Emissary,” said Summer Ruby in a polite tone. “So good of you to be succinct in your explanation.”

Turning, they found the white-robed Ascian, flanked by two black robed Overlords. Despite their faces being unfamiliar to her, something about their presence made her smile.

“Fandaniel, Halmarut. You are both looking well.”

“Matrisiram, you are looking ever the more whole and hale every time I see you!” Fandaniel said a bit too brightly. “And so do I, I suppose!” He clamped his hand over his mouth to smother a burst of laughter.

“It is alright, Fandaniel,” Elidibus said. “We are all among friends here, you can relax.” Fandaniel nodded, but did not remove his hand from over his mouth.

“Well, friends and hangers-on,” Emet-Selch said. When he gestured at Zenos, Elidibus let out an uncomfortable noise.

“Perhaps we should just let bygones be bygones…”

“If it grants you any comfort, I hold no ill will toward you,” said Zenos. He smirked, and added: “Uncle.”

Elidibus took a halting step forward and looked up at the towering Garlean. “By Zodiark-- _ Rigel? _ ”

Emet-Selch croaked out: “What?”

Halmarut hummed thoughtfully and nodded. “Yes, he does bear a striking resemblance to the boy, now that you mention it.”

Summer Ruby remembered that someone on the Convocation  _ had _ been aware of her secret marriage. Someone who had chosen to keep it secret for the couple in order to maintain peace among the members of the Convocation.

“It is so,” Zenos said. A sound escaped Elidibus that sounded almost like a laugh.

“How do you know the boy now, and not before?” Emet-Selch wondered aloud. Summer Ruby reached out and gently touched his arm, but he still pinched his lips unhappily.

“His soul had not yet begun to comprehend its memories when I last encountered him,” Elidibus said. “That and I was concerned with the more pressing issue of getting the hells away from him as quickly as possible.” He tsked softly at Zenos’ amused snort.

“I don’t understand,” said Emet-Selch.

“I had family, too, Emet-Selch,” the Emissary said in a chastising tone. “And I was the boy’s uncle. Well, great-uncle, technically. My elder sister was his grandmother, so very long ago.” Elidibus’ hand lingered on his chest, and a slight smile crept onto his lips. “My, but that is an old feeling, isn’t it.” He looked between Summer Ruby and Zenos. “So, you have been reunited with your conflux? That is heartening. ‘Tis but one match amongst millions, but it is a beginning, and soon many more will flourish again.”

“You knew about this?” Emet-Selch said.

“Of course I did, Emet-Selch. But, for the sake of harmony amongst the Convocation seats, I agreed to keep it quiet.”

Emet-Selch’s shoulders slumped, and he sighed. “Perhaps we should just carry on with business.”

Elidibus tapped a clawed finger on his chin, and then nodded. “Yes, there will be time for many more happy reunions soon enough.”

“Then the time is near?” Halmarut asked, barely concealing a hopeful edge to his voice.

“Soon enough. The Eleventh Ardor is on the precipice of beginning--already the flow of what souls could be salvaged on the Thirteenth has begun. Goodness knows Matrisiram positively gleams with it.” Elidibus smiled thinly. “Honored sister Altima is currently on the Thirteenth staying the flood until Emet-Selch arrives to begin the event proper. What we are in need of is an anchor for the Twelfth Ardor, which is intended to coincide with the Eleventh.”

“Two at once, isn’t that a bit hasty?” Summer Ruby asked.

“It might seem so, but the two elements will somewhat cancel the greater effects of each other. Those being the void Darkness and the Light.”

“The Light?” she echoed.

“Yes. The Twelfth Ardor will involve the rejoining of the First to the Source.”

“I’ll do it,” Summer Ruby said immediately. Elidibus tipped his head to the side.

“Will you? I did not expect you to volunteer so readily. Emet-Selch was quite certain that it would take some amount of badgering to get you to agree to return to the First.”

The Ascian in question flustered. “I didn’t say it like that!”

“Those were almost his exact words,” Fandaniel said. He grinned toothily.

“All the same. Emet-Selch feels that you will be a capable anchor for that shard, and having had a better look at your current state, I am inclined to agree.”

“Hopefully, doing this will allow me to… release some of the negative feelings that still linger in my heart regarding what happened to me on the First all those years ago.” Summer Ruby smiled as Emet-Selch touched her shoulder.

“And, if it does not?”

Her smile widened to show a few teeth. “I will still get the satisfaction of seeing the old man’s face at the end.”


	19. Shattered

_Prompt 20:_ Shattered

 _Timeframe:_ 3rd Era

Hades knew that he was too late already when he found his love. The Third Ardor had already begun when he came upon her in a town market in the middle of nearly nowhere, the first sizzling embers manifesting as a burning sickness that plagued the land. The manifestation had already started when he, as Emet-Selch, had come up for air after listening to Lahabrea extol the virtues of a cleansing fire upon the Source. The man did so love his flames, even now, and could speak at length of his different ideas for dumping a shard’s worth of fire aspected aether onto the star. It was only when Lahabrea had set the plans into motion that Emet-Selch had realized that he had not looked for one of Persephone’s shards in some time.

And, as in the Ardor previous, her shards bubbled to the surface of the Lifestream to be reborn just a relatively short time before the full force of the next Ardor struck.

Emet-Selch knew his time was limited before he would have to depart for the Rift. His vessel was just another mortal, after all, and the Elezen he had taken control of would eventually succumb to the plague the same as everyone else. He had spent months and then years scouring the scattered villages for her, and by the time he had finally heard word of a beautiful blood haired maiden in a village far to the east it was already too late. The burning sickness had already spread that far.

Sometimes he loathed Lahabrea’s efficiency.

He leaned in the relative shade of a withering tree at the market’s edge and watched her. His Persephone, beautiful face occasionally peeking out from the safety of her cowl as she roamed the stalls. The weak blue light emanating from the meager number of shards that she possessed was unmistakable to him, even in this state. But it was weak, and waning even as she made her way to a fruit vendor’s stall. She had already contracted the illness that was steadily sweeping across the star, a relentless thing that burned away a victim’s aether from the inside, until there was not enough left to keep the soul contained in its vessel.

Oh, but she was still captivating, and he mourned his inability to save her, to spare her. She would have to die again, just like everyone else. Over and again, through another ten Ardors, until she could once more be complete and return to him.

“Do you naught but sit and stare at pretty girls all day, my friend?” A voice teased off to his right.

Hades was not alone in his venture. Not today, at the least. When he had arrived at an unimportant village some twenty miles to the west, he had almost immediately attracted the attention of a young man at the inn. He was one of those ‘blind prophets’ that were spoken of now and then--a young man, blind from birth, who could yet peer into the essence of a person and know their fate. He was unfortunately somewhat of an outcast because of this, because everyone’s fate these days was ‘you will soon die painfully’, and no one wanted to hear that. That had, of course, not stopped the young man from immediately seeking out Hades and offering him a reading.

He had declined.

This had not prevented the blind man from pursuing him out of one town, through the wilds, and into the next. He was quite dogged, but Hades had not truly been surprised by this.

Hythlodaeus’ soul shards were always quite relentless in seeking him out. This was, if his count was accurate, the seventh time since the previous Ardor that Hades had stumbled into a reincarnation of his old friend. He was far easier to track down than poor Persephone--if anything he was nearly impossible to shake.

The reincarnations never really _remembered_ him, no, but they were still drawn in by some old forgotten memory, forgotten promise, forgotten--

“‘Tis alright,” the prophet said. “I would do the same if I could.” He hummed cheerfully, crossing his arms as he took a place next to Hades at the tree. “She is quite lovely, though isn’t she?” He jerked his chin in the direction of the red haired woman.

“How would you know?”

“Her soul is beautiful,” said the prophet with a knowing smile. “A sort of beauty that surpasses the limitations of the flesh. Wouldn’t you agree?”

He looked at the woman, at her beautiful blue light. “Indeed.”

“Do you know her?”

“In a fashion. She is the one I was looking for when we met.”

“Oh, how fortunate. In a world like this you could spend years searching for someone and never find them.” The prophet reached and took the Ascian’s hand, blind eyes focused forward, not quite in the direction of the woman.

Hythlodaeus had been searching for him, he had said upon their meeting. The man had wept after Hades had bedded the young prophet before leaving his village.

 _You did not hurt me, my friend_ , the prophet had said. _I am simply glad to have found you before it was too late this time._

For someone who could not remember why he was so drawn to the Ascian, he still retained Hythlodaeus’ old innate need to seek out Hades, for good or for mischief.

“She is already taken ill, like the others,” the prophet murmured as he rested his brow against the rough sleeve of Hades’ cloak.

“You can tell?”

“Her soul is struggling against its pull,” he said. “Like a torch burning itself out so strongly that it snuffs out its own flame.”

 _Yes, that is how Lahabrea had described the sickness_ , Emet-Selch thought.

He sighed softly. “The nearest temple is how far from here?”

The prophet hummed in thought, notes that parodied something Hades had heard a lifetime ago. “Perhaps a quarter day’s walk from here, if you have a brisk pace. Why?”

“I think I could carry her there before she dies,” Hades said.

“Mm? Why would you do that? Why not let her die in peace in her homeland?”

“What about you?” He glanced down at the young man. His verdant soul was like a splash of blooming life in the withering landscape, but Hythlodaeus too was already dying. His cheeks were flushed with fever, but that did nothing to remove the gentle smile from his lips. Hades felt a twinge of sadness in his breast when he gazed upon that failing green light, but knew that some cheerful avatar of his friend would find him again given a century or two. With Persephone, it was never so certain. Sometimes it almost felt as though her soul were shying away from his perception.

“I feel more at peace here, sitting in your shade,” the prophet said. “I would have died alone and shunned back home. Even were you to shun me now, I would still feel untroubled in my heart.”

“Why?”

The prophet shrugged. “I do not know. Perhaps it is because, in comparison to everyone around me, your soul shines so brilliantly that I might be swayed into thinking you one of the divines.”

“I told you: I am no divine. No god. Just a cursed man.”

He smiled up at Hades. “Perhaps.”

Hades watched the woman, his dear Persephone, as she slowly tread away from the market stalls. Her step was slow, cautious, uncertain of itself. He made a decision.

“I’m going to take her to the temple,” he said to the prophet. “A quarter day, briskly, you said?”

“Yes.” The smile faltered from the prophet’s lips. “But, I will not be able to accompany you. I will not be able to walk that far.”

Hades stared down at the prophet. He could see something familiar, deep in the haze of the man’s eyes. “I--I will return for you. I promise.”

“You need not do that for me, my friend,” said the prophet. “To have gazed upon you once in my life is more than enough. I know I will see you again someday.” He smiled with peaceful certainty.

Hades swallowed against the tightness in his throat. He could not help but remember his final moments with Hythlodaeus, millennia ago now. His poor Hythlo, dying in front of him, and encouraging him to go on to Percy. _Why do you keep doing this, you fool_?

“When I am done at the temple, I will return to this village,” Hades said. “Whether you are dead or alive. I will find you again. I promise.”

He was surprised to see moisture pool at the corners of the blind man’s eyes. “If you would do that for me, then grant me one more request.”

“Just ask.”

“I do not wish for my body to be burned,” the prophet said. “I know that is how they are handling the bodies of those stricken with this illness, but the thought of such a fate strikes greater fear into me than the death itself.”

Hades touched the man’s cheek. “What would you have me do for you?”

The blind man’s eyes shifted until their focus settled on the Ascian’s heart. He smiled. “Let the ground have my body, but make of me a speck of your starlight, and keep memory of me in your heart.”

It was difficult for Hades to speak, harder to swallow, but he nodded. “Yes, I will do that for you. Of course I will, my friend.”


	20. Wonderful + Hello

_Prompt 21 + 22:_ Wonderful + Hello

 _Timeframe:_ HH + 20 years

_After so very long, Emet-Selch had come to find it difficult to cast away things that he had become attached to. He supposed it was a fault of being around mortals so much, or perhaps just a side effect of the ever increasing sense of loneliness and desperation that filled the days and weeks between the times that he actually had something to properly occupy his mind. So it had been, when the lovely young Garlean lad with sky-silver hair and cerulean eyes had come to his tent one evening after a successful battle, Emet-Selch had been unable to turn the man away._

_He had grown too weary of the world to be able to turn away Hythlodaeus._

_The courtier had not remembered him, of course, even more than half complete his soul still functioned on instinctual draw alone. But, sometimes, Hades thought he saw some faint glimmer of familiarity in the man’s eyes. Sometimes. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking on the old Ascian’s part, as if he recalled anything, the courtier never said anything about it._

_Solus’ wife had not cared for the beautiful young man, or the pleasure and peculiar comfort that he brought to the busy emperor. For a year and a half she had politely tolerated the man as long as he kept to his own private chambers and out of her sight. Then Sabinus taken ill, and she had decided to draw the line, citing their son’s illness as punishment for the Emperor’s behavior. The Empress had demanded that Solus break off the business with his courtier, but Solus had staunchly refused._

_So she had done the deed for him. Poison, Emet-Selch deduced as he knelt next to the bed bearing the younger man’s comatose form. Something concocted from the dark roses that grew in her gardens, a foul mixture that disrupted the flow of aether in a body. Fatal to Garleans, as they had no means of purging the taint from their aether. It was only a matter of time._

_“My dearest friend, I am so sorry,” Solus whispered into his ear. “I should have sent you away, but I could not. And now you are suffering again for me.” He wiped at his eyes. “I need you to do something for me, my friend. I need you to keep away from me for a time. Do not let yourself be drawn back to Garlemald. It will never be safe for you.” Solus brushed his fingertips over the man’s third eye. “Fret not, we will find each other again. We always do.”_

_The courtier was silent, motionless, helplessly awaiting death._

_“Say ‘hello’ to Percy for me, should you find her before I do.”_

_Emet-Selch closed his eyes, and snapped his fingers._

Emet-Selch was not a fan of dreaming of past losses. There were so many that accumulated in his heart over the years, that there was an ever increasing chance that such a moment might strike him while he slept. He dreamt of Persephone sometimes, but Hythlodaeus crept into his dreams more often, most likely because Emet-Selch had run into the man’s incarnations dozens of times over the passing of eras. Over and again, Hythlodaeus had found him, and then faded away. Emet-Selch loathed it, hated it almost as much as he tired of working on each new Ardor, of the pressing sense of dread that he might not survive to see the world reborn. 

He was resting on a couch, pondering the contents of his latest dream, when a thought flickered through his mind.

_Emet-Selch, please come back to Ishgard. I need you._

He sat up as the essence of Summer Ruby’s voice rippled through his mind. He had been taking a bit of a rest after aiding in the initiation of the Eight Ardor. It should have been the Ninth, but that whole business with the First had gone awry, and with Lahabrea’s loss the finishing touches on the next great Burning had taken more work that he had expected. He had been away from Ishgard for three years now, keeping in communication with Percy but unable to leave his world on another shard.

And now she was calling to him for help.

What for, he wondered? They had taken careful pains to keep the majority of the massive fireball contained to Ilsabard, though the smoky skies would darken the rest of the world for a few years. Ishgard would have been fine, they had taken careful precautions to guarantee that. So, what had gone wrong?

Emet-Selch alerted Elidibus--who was still busy tending to Fandaniel’s afflictions in the Rift--of his departure, and hurried back to Ishgard.

The sky overheard was a dark gray, the usual gloomy snow clouds laced with pollution from the far distant fires. Emet-Selch fluffed the collar of his coat against his Elezen ears and hurried on to the Borel manor, even as an unpleasant snow began to descend on the perpetually frozen city. The steward answering the door at the manor took his coat and led the Ascian down to the dining hall, where Summer Ruby was seated alone at the long table, a half consumed meal and three empty wine glasses decorating the hardwood before her.

“You called?” Emet-Selch said in a careful tone as the door closed behind him. Summer Ruby, his dear Persephone, looked up at him with a weary smile. She set her fork down on the plate and pushed her seat back.

“You came,” she said. “I was starting to worry that you had ignored me for some reason. The Warrior of Light looked down at him, physically unchanged since he had last seen her in person.

“I would never do that,” he said. Emet-Selch took her right hand in his left and gave it a squeeze, both enjoying the way her aether buffeted his and disliking the way Zenos’ possessive mark butted against his own touch. “Whatever is the matter?”

“It’s Merle.” She returned the gentle squeeze before pulling her hand away. “I thought at first it was just some effect of him finishing his growth, but he’s… There’s just something off about him. Listless and dour and the like, very unlike himself. And since the start of the Ardor, he has taken ill.”

Emet-Selch frowned. He was no doctor, of course, and uncertain if he could really provide much assistance in the treatment of an illness in a mortal body. “You have medics here in Ishgard. Why call for me?”

“Because, he asked for you.”

That was curious. “For me? The boy doesn’t like me, why would he ask for me?” Emet-Selch grimaced and waved a hand. “Did he not call for Zenos? Last I was aware, he adored the man.”

Summer Ruby hesitated, and then shook her head. “He asked for you, _Hades_.”

Emet-Selch blinked. “What, by name?”

She nodded. “I don’t know when he heard it, probably overheard it while he was growing up. But, he asked quite specifically. Said: ‘Please, Mama, I need to see Hades.’ I thought I’d misheard him until he asked again a few days later.”

“So you called for me.” Emet-Selch exhaled slowly. “That is curious. Perhaps it is a side effect of whatever illness has stricken him?”

“I was hoping you would be able to figure that out for me.”

“For you, of course, my love.” He sighed and shook his head. “I am not certain of what help I will be, but I will certainly do my best to suss things out for you.”

“Thank you, Emet-Selch.”

She led him upstairs to one of the bedroom doors. The Warrior of Light looked indeed the part of the properly worried mother, but insisted that she would leave him undisturbed in his work. She had given him a hug--for herself or him, he was uncertain--before disappearing back downstairs. Emet-Selch quietly entered the room. It was well appointed and clean, and Emet-Selch could tell that the Borels took good care of their young son. 

The young man in question was stretched out on his bed, clad only in a plain white tunic and trousers, bedcovers tossed aside in a pile on the rug next to the bed. The little baby Merle had grown into a strapping young man, seven fulms tall, his brawny Roegadyn frame tempered by a helping of Elezen litheness and grace. He could have been mistaken for a Garlean, Emet-Selch thought, or at least a half-bred one.

There was something else about the young man, though. Something that Emet-Selch had thought he had seen years before, but waved it away as a wistful fancy. 

“Merle?” Emet-Selch called as he took a few steps into the room. “Your mother said you were ill and asked for me.” He forced a smile. “What need did you have of old Emet-Selch?”

The young man groaned softly as he stirred. His face was a splendid thing, Emet-Selch thought, an artful mixture of his mother’s sharp lines and father’s peerless beauty. He opened his eyes, deep blue from his mother, and stared up at the Ascian for a long moment before heaving himself up into a seated position.

“Careful now,” he said. “Your mother will gut me if I hurt you.”

“I am fine,” Merle insisted in a deep voice that caught Emet-Selch off guard. What had become of the squeaky-voiced youth who followed Zenos around with a wooden practice sword?

“You are red with a fever, I wouldn’t call that ‘fine’.”

Merle stared up at him for a long moment. Then his chapped lips pulled into a smile.

“Perhaps I am ill for missing you, Hades.”

Emet-Selch stood frozen, as though he had been left outside too long on one of Ishgard’s cobbled streets. It took effort to manage: “I beg your pardon?” He could not stop his gaze from flicking downward, to the light of the young man’s soul. It had always been a pleasant shade of green, yes, but there was something _different_ about it than he recalled from the last time he had been in Ishgard. Different, impossible--there was no way that it was _that_ soul, not here or now, not born to that particular mother of all people on the star.

“I’m sorry. Would it put you more at ease if I called you by your title, oh most benevolent and honored Emet-Selch?” The young man batted his dark eyelashes at him once before getting to his feet.

“I--Are you certain you should be on your feet?” The Ascian realized that he had taken a step away from his proximity to the bed. “Your mother wanted me to find the cause of your illness.”

Merle retrieved a dark blue dressing gown from where it hung on a bedpost and pulled it on. He cocked his head as he gazed down at Emet-Selch.

“And, what do you think ails me, Emet-Selch?”

He thought of what the boy’s mother had told him. Merle had become listless and dour, not his usual cheerful self. It could have been just some peculiar aspect of puberty caused by his mixed heritage, but the young man that loomed over him now was fully grown and past that point of development.

“You… took ill when the Calamity happened, yes? That is what your mother said.”

“Indeed,” Merle said, a gleam in his dark eyes. Emet-Selch looked at his soul again, saw the verdant hue, knew what it meant, but still wanted to deny it.

“When you would have absorbed another shard of your soul…” He frowned. “I don’t know, I was away, I was not here to see what might have happened to you when that occurred. I’ve never been much of one for paying attention to such things.” Emet-Selch clapped a hand over his mouth. Why had he felt compelled to speak so casually of such serious matters to the young man?

Merle leaned in, grasping Emet-Selch’s wrist in his long fingers and pulling his hand away from his mouth.

Emet-Selch gasped involuntarily at a spark of aether that passed between their hands. He could _see_ it, as he had with no one other than Persephone, the way the verdant aether leapt out and snagged at the aetheric line in his wrist.

“I missed you,” Merle said, bringing the Ascian’s snared hand to his fever flushed cheek.

“You--?”

A coy, achingly familiar smile tugged at the young man’s lips. “Hello again, my dearest Hades. I have missed you so very much.”

Cautiously, Emet-Selch whispered: “Hythlo?”

“Daeus,” Merle finished.

“That’s…” Not impossible, he thought. Certainly not impossible, given the way Hythlodaeus’ soul had gravitated over the centuries. “Really?”

Merle stared at him. “You and I met one afternoon in the summer when we were still in primary school. It had been raining all day, and finally stopped, and the sun was cracking through the deep blue clouds. My mother had let me go alone to the playground, and you were there with your best friend, Persephone. You were watching her climb a tree, scolding her for getting her robes all wet after the storm. And I walked up, and you looked at me and asked…” He chuckled and scrubbed his fingers through his loose black curls. “Why my hair was the color of one of your father’s copper samples.”

Emet-Selch felt lightheaded at the young man’s words. “You remember me?”

“Since the Calamity, yes. I woke up one day, feeling strange, like my head was heavy with someone else’s thoughts. I heard Mama and Zenos discussing the great fire that had begun in Garlemald. And then I passed out on the floor. It’s a bit muddy after that for a few weeks. But when I woke up, my thoughts, my memories were all much clearer.”

He slowly shook his head, unable to escape a nagging feeling of doubt and disbelief, and an ever strong feeling that the floor was turning to water beneath his feet.

“I--I dont--”

“Emet-Selch?” A soft voice, a strong but gentle hand on his forehead. “Hey, are you alright?”

The Ascian groaned and cracked his eyes open. Summer Ruby was leaning over him, concern on her face. “Per… Summer Ruby?”

She smiled and kissed his forehead before righting herself. “There you are. You had me worried, and I have no idea how to contact your boss if something happens to you.”

“My boss…” He sat up slowly and looked around. Emet-Selch had been half sprawled, quite inelegantly, on the reading bench in Merle’s bedroom. Glancing toward the bed, he saw that the young man was perched on the edge of the covers, a sheepish smile on his face. “What happened?”

“Merle said you passed out while helping him.” He felt a faint, mothering ghost of a healing spell on her fingertips as she brushed them down the side of his head.

“Oh… yes, that was my fault, I’m afraid.” He looked to the boy again, who shrugged and looked away. “I must have pushed myself too hard while attempting to treat what ailed him.”

Summer Ruby looked to her son. “And, what was wrong with him?”

“There isn’t a specific term for it, but I suppose you could call it… a melancholia of the soul.” He lowered his voice. “During the last Ardor, when his soul gained another bit of itself, it did not merge quite right, and thusly left him feeling very unstable and out of sorts.”

She made a sympathetic noise. “My poor little blackbird.”

“Indeed. Fortunately, I am capable of realigning such things, with my magical skills and Sight. I believe I managed to realign his essences, so he should be feeling better rather soon.” Emet-Selch smiled. “I wouldn’t let him push himself too hard for a few days, of course. No dashing around the training grounds with his uncle.”

“Of course not.” She pulled the Ascian into her arms and hugged him. She whispered: “Thank you, dear Hades.”

“‘Twas the least I could do for you, my dear.” He enjoyed the warmth of her presence greatly, but something still buzzed idly in the back of his mind.

“Mama, do you think I could go for a walk?” Merle asked.

“What, you feel up to it already?”

“It’s been some time since I’ve been outside beyond the porch,” the young man said. He added a bit of an entreaty to his tone. “What if I didn’t go alone? Emet-Selch could accompany me, and make sure I don’t strain myself.”

Summer Ruby sighed. “I don’t want to impose on his kindness again so soon.”

Emet-Selch smiled and gently patted her arm. “I think after my little swoon I could use a little fresh air myself, dear. It wouldn’t be any imposition.”

“Well... “ She sighed again and shook her head. “I won’t stop you. Just make sure you’re properly bundled up. I don’t need you getting physically sick and not just… spiritually.”

“Thank you, Mama.”

They walked side by side down the frigid street, Emet-Selch looking like a well-dressed man of the See, Merle like a proper little lordling of House Borel. The sky was heavy above their heads, and the world around them quiet. They passed no one while slowly meandering in the direction of the Firmament.

“I thank you for your discretion, Hades,” Merle said once they were out of earshot of his home. “I know you aren’t one for lying, especially to her.”

“I do it for myself as much as you.” Emet-Selch sighed and folded his arms over his chest. “I must admit that I still do not entirely know what to make of all this.”

Merle’s smile was familiar and made Emet-Selch’s heart ache. “Did you really think I would be reborn time and again, until the world was made whole, without ever remembering who I was? Percy remembered who she was, as did her….” He trailed off.

“Her conflux, yes.”

“Hells, Hades, how were we so blind? So oblivious to what was going on with her life? We were her best friends, we _loved_ her, and yet we--”

“Please, Merle, you don’t have to bring it all up. I have spent much of the last two decades berating myself for my failures.”

“My apologies.” The words were followed by a gentle smile. “You know, you don’t have to call me by this life’s name when we are in private, if you don’t wish to.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet.” Emet-Selch shook his head. “We have to keep this a secret, just between us. You do understand that, don’t you?”

The younger man tapped his pointer finger against his lips and looked thoughtful for a moment. “Don’t you think Percy will become cross when she realizes that we’ve been keeping a secret from her? I mean, I can understand keeping it hush from my father--he scarcely needs yet another thing to fret over in his life--but Mama deserves to know, doesn’t she?”

“She will feel guilty hiding the information from your father,” Emet-Selch said. “We can always tell her later. After a few more Ardors, after your father has grown old and passed…” He looked away. “She will be more her old self than her present self, given another thirty or forty years.”

“Perhaps you are right, old friend.” Merle’s finger paused in its tapping. “She knows of your work, then?”

“She does, yes. Summer Ruby took up her old mantle of Matrisiram again back when you were but a little boy.” Emet-Selch considered the question. “How do _you_ know of my work?” Merle just flashed him a mysterious smile and said nothing. Emet-Selch sighed and shook his head. “Typical.”

Merle hummed a meandering series of notes that gave the Ascian pause. For a fleeting moment he felt himself succumbing to his long buried memories, to Hythlodaeus’ playful humming while they were busy doing something that wasn’t studying. But then the young man touched the back of his gloved hand and his thoughts stumbled again into the present.

“You keep seeking me out, you know,” he said. “Time and again. It is curious that this time you hit the mark so soundly, but with _Percy_. Percy!”

Merle chuckled and laced their fingers together. “I do believe my previous incarnation held to a particularly desperate wish not to leave Summer Ruby behind. I do not know how much of it was by his soul’s influence. But I, Merle, was conceived very shortly after the death of my previous incarnation.”

“So, some peculiar coincidence, perhaps.”

“Perhaps.” More humming, and then the taller man tugged at Emet-Selch’s hand and dragged him off one of the side alleys of the Firmament. The Ascian let himself be led along, until they were leaning together in the snowy shadows of an archway.

“Even after all this time, you are still young and foolish,” Emet-Selch chided.

“It is better than being old and grumpy like you, Hades.” Merle reached and touched his chin. “I would have thought you would be happier to see me, my love.”

Merle’s touch and words caused levin to shudder its way down his spine. “Oh, I am happy, I just--it’s overwhelming. And, I cannot help but feel a touch ashamed. I spent so much time focusing on trying to find Persephone, trying to get her back, to keep her with me, that I never--” Emet-Selch clamped his mouth shut, the unfamiliar sting of shame heating his cheeks. “I never put much thought into finding you. I didn’t have to, after all. You kept showing up, over and over, like a hound after its mark.”

Merle grinned. “Yes, and I would dare say you took advantage of my persistence. Or did you not fuck my incarnations as often as not?”

“Ah--” Emet-Selch looked down. “I took advantage of you, yes.”

“I wanted you to,” said Merle. “It never felt like abuse to me. I could feel your love for me, as much as your mourning of the loss of my original self.”

“Even though I was always thinking of Persephone?”

The younger man sighed and shook his head, though the smile did not leave his face. “You are still so hung up on thinking you can only really love one person. I do not know where that idea got etched into your mind, dear Hades. Goodness knows that you certainly loved the both of us when we were young.”

“I wanted to be with her,” said Emet-Selch. “Not you.”

Merle spoke lowly: “Well, I wanted to be with you. I was the happiest fool in Amaurot, just sharing an apartment with you.” His smile widened. “Did you know that, Hades? How happy you made me?”

The Ascian huffed with old, well practiced irritation. “You just enjoyed tormenting me. Teasing me and--” He stopped and ducked his chin to his chest. “Flirting with me.”

An over-dramatic sigh came from the other man. “I could have had a lovely girlfriend _and_ a lovely boyfriend, but I happened to fall for the biggest pair of brilliant dummies on the star.”

“Yes, well. That is all in the past now, isn’t it?” Emet-Selch cleared his throat, feeling an uneasy twist of sadness in his heart. “Now all I can do is continue my work to bring everyone back together again. You, Percy… everyone possible.”

Merle hummed a flat note. “Do you want us to pretend that you don’t know who I am? Would that make things easier for you, my dear?”

“No,” Emet-Selch said, then nearly bit his tongue at his own hasty reply. “What do you plan on doing now, then?”

“I’m going to continue being Merle de Borel,” the young man said with his usual smile. “But, Merle de Borel also happens to be the reincarnation of your bygone conflux, so I think I might like to explore that on the side, given the chance.”

“My _what_?” He looked sharply up at the other man. Merle was grinning at him, a look again so familiar that Emet-Selch was uncertain that he was not dreaming.

“Do you not remember our last night together? Before you and the Convocation summoned Lord Zodiark?” Merle leaned in, his breath ghosting warm against the Ascian’s skin. “I am yours, and you are mine.”

“I--we didn’t--we just--” Emet-Selch looked up into Merle’s dark blue eyes, and then away, to the dark sky, the cold stone walls, the trim of his coat, _anything_ to avoid meeting his gaze. Finally, he settled for focusing on the silver pendant that hung from the young man’s throat. He murmured: “We did not say those words with that sort of intent. We didn’t do all that with that sort of intent.”

“Are you certain of that?” There was no accusation in Merle’s voice. Just a simple question.

Emet-Selch struggled through his memories. That night had been so very, very long ago, and he had worked so very hard to bury as much of his memory of those final days as he could. Thinking about it all hurt too much, though for much of the past few millennia he had been certain that it was the loss of Persephone he was trying to avoid thinking about. The loss of his love, the one who he now knew would never, could never have been his by that point. He had missed his chance with her because he had been afraid of taking it.

But Hythlodaeus… He had stayed with Hades, despite his constant acrimony toward the man he considered one of his dearest and closest of friends.

Someone he loved.

“Give me your hand, Hades,” Merle said. Emet-Selch hesitated at the demand--he could still well enough remember their younger years, how he and Percy had held hands all the time because their aether was so compatible, how it brought him comfort then and even now. Hythlodaeus had been a different matter entirely. Holding his hand for the aetheric test always made him feel ill. 

“We weren’t compatible,” he protested lamely. The young man smiled at him, resolute, and grabbed the closest hand.

“Of course we were,” Merle said. “I just repulsed you on purpose, so you would spend more time with Percy.”

Emet-Selch stared at their hands. “Why?”

“Because I wanted you two to get together, silly. I wanted you to be _happy_ , Hades. That’s what love does. It rejoices in the happiness of those it loves, even if it is not the source of that happiness.”

“I…” Emet-Selch struggled to think of a protest. “You are far more loving and generous a man than I can ever hope to be.”

Merle chuckled. “Yes, I’ve known that since we were children.”

He watched the fine green filigree of Merle’s aether as it coiled over the surface of his gloved hand. It felt warm and pleasant, a familiar old embrace that he had not realized he had been missing for just as long as he had been mourning his loss of Persephone. His own aether curled out to meet the green. Emet-Selch had seen this interaction before, most recently when Summer Ruby and Zenos were together. The delicate visual affirmation of a conflux’s bond.

“I don’t understand. We did not have anything officiated. We didn’t say the words or--”

“You have been living among mortals long enough to know that those things were just the ceremony,” Merle said. “All that was really required was the exchange and imprinting of aether, right?” He chuckled. “Honestly, as many times as we were intimate in our younger years, and you still believed that we were not compatible.”

Emet-Selch’s cheeks grew warm. “I suppose, at the time, sex seemed a different sort of intimacy.”

Another chuckle. “My sweet Hades. You always have been quite capable of talking yourself out of a good idea. All geniuses are.”

“I…” Emet-Selch shook his head. “Is this why your soul was always popping up wherever I went to work on the Source?”

“Perhaps so. Someone had to keep an eye on you, Hades. You certainly weren’t doing it--look what a mess you’ve become without me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden sting that enveloped them. “Hythlodaeus.”

“Hades.”

Emet-Selch dug his fingers into the collar of the young man’s coat and tugged him closer. “You are still an absolute pest.”

Merle smirked. “Never have had a reason to change.”

“Oh, just shut your stupid mouth and--” Emet-Selch rose up on his boot toes and pressed his lips to the other man’s. A low groan rattled in his throat. “Percy is going to be furious with us.”

Merle lipped at his lower lip. “Why, because you’re fucking her baby boy?”

Emet-Selch grabbed at a handful of black hair. “No, because her baby boy grew up to be _you_.”

They laughed.


	21. Omen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: This is an AU BAD END for HH. Features: Bit of body horror, character deaths, general dark stuff.

_Prompt 23:_ Omen

 _Timeframe:_ During 5.0

Emet-Selch walked the Tempest-dimmed streets of Amaurot. The recreation rippled and shifted occasionally in response to his thoughts--changing the shape of a building here, adding a nearly forgotten decorative sapling there--as he paced between the towering forms of the Amaurotines. Some acknowledged him, some did not. He was aware of a shade wearing his dear Hythlodaeus’ face trailing him for a few hours before it lost interest and wandered off.

He was waiting for her, waiting for the Warrior of Light, of Darkness, for the coarse Viera woman who let her comrades insult him during the day but rode his cock when he visited her at night. She never had any sweet words for him, but his heart had nearly burst with the things when he realized who she was.

The keeper of the shards of Persephone. His lost love, drawn to the First to thwart the very plans that would have eventually helped bring her whole to him. She was strong and kind but distracted, she did not want to be on the First, cared not for their plight, wanted to be back home on the Source with her Elezen husband and their child. It should have been easy to convince her to turn away from finishing the dreadful task the Crystal Exarch had given her. He did not want her to continue to defeat the Lightwardens as it made a mess of his carefully reconstructed plans, but if she was going to insist on sticking to it then he wished her to be successful.

She was not swayed, and was not successful.

That much had been obvious when she collapsed to the ground after absorbing what remained of the final Lightwarden. He taunted her and ridiculed her failure. He did not want to do this, he never had, he loved Persephone and it made some distant, buried part of his soul ache to watch her suffer. But, she had chosen this, had insisted on persevering, had made of him her enemy.

So he waited for her. He half suspected that she would not arrive under the Tempest alone--from what he had observed and heard of the Warrior, she was not one to do things alone when she could permit the support of her allies. Emet-Selch also suspected that the Scions would not permit her to go alone, even if she wanted to. No, why would they let her face her fate alone, when they could tag along for one last chance to sneer at his designs and spit in his face?

He expected the whole lot of them to come stumbling noisily into the beautiful streets of his beloved city, and so it was quite the surprise to the old Ascian when Summer Ruby did as he asked.

She came alone.

Emet-Selch wanted to make a grand entrance, to taunt her failure, to try and extract some sort of personal relief from her suffering. But as he watched the proud woman move in painful, halting steps through the recreation, his resolve failed him.

Whatever magicks the Oracle and the catgirl had used to help keep the burden of primordial Light contained in the Warrior’s body had begun to fail. Emet-Selch moved closer, and saw that her labored movements were caused by a manifestation of her deteriorating condition. Light had begun to coalesce and solidify on the right side of her body--her right arm was folded against her soft bosom, and the dark skin that was visible had hardened and taken on the milky appearance of polished marble. She limped when stepping onto her right foot, and the movement implied that the muscles in her leg had begun to harden as well. She continued on, silent and resolute, until she reached where he stood waiting for her in the middle of an avenue.

Her right eye would not open, but the left was agape, and the Ascian was forced to stare into the familiar red depth of his lost love.

“Emet-Selch,” she whispered.

He resisted the urge to close the distance between them. “So, you came alone after all.” He made a show of huffing and planting his hands on his hips. “I must say, I am quite surprised at your tenacity.”

_Oh my Persephone. What punishment is this? What did we do to deserve this?_

For a moment she was mute. Then: “They will follow before long. It was all I could do to give them this much of a slip.” Summer Ruby grimaced. “They think to save me.” A tear streaked out of her closed eye. “What nonsense. They--they--” She swallowed hard. Emet-Selch recalled their quiet conversations in her private room back in the Pendants. “They think to save their blade when it is already breaking.”

“Indeed,” was all he could manage to say. 

Her body shook, and she half turned away to retch up a mass of white bile. She wiped at her mouth with her left sleeve, a fresh stain joining several others already present on the deep red fabric.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Emet-Selch blinked and hesitated. What was she apologizing for? He was the one who had let her turn herself into this decaying mess, he could have stopped her, he could have-- _No, she chose this path. They chose this path for her, and she did not fight it. Ever the hero._

Her voice continued on, seeped in sorrow and pain. “I did not want you to see me like this.”

He forced levity into his response: “Oh? Did you want to turn into a beautiful monster and tear me to pieces?” He tried to ignore the way that the tears continued to flow from that closed eye, the way the liquid grew increasingly cloudy, how it left a shimmering track on her dark cheek.

“Perhaps.” Summer Ruby forced herself a step closer, and Emet-Selch fought the urge to step away as her body lurched with the movement. “I--I--” Her body shuddered again, and her voice cracked with a sob as she spoke. “I don’t know why, Emet-Selch. I think I wanted a chance to be your friend.”

_Oh, my love, we already were friends. The best of friends, and it was beautiful._

He forced himself to sneer out a reply. “As though I could be friends with a broken _thing_ like you.”

“I know.” Her left hand, streaked with pearlescent saliva, moved to press over her heart. “It was just a feeling. Like something out of a dream.” Her head drooped. “I just wanted to go home.”

“As do I, my dear hero. As do I.”

The Warrior did not lift her head again. “Did you like me at all? Give any sincere thought to being kind to me?”

He wanted to be cruel, to distance himself from this torture with a lie. But his heart would not let him. He was a man of truth, not of petty falsehoods.

“If you must know, Summer Ruby, I thought of it often. I _wanted_ you to succeed, because I did not want to lose you again.”

Her left eyelid drooped, nearly to the point of closing. “Woe to those that you consider your enemy.”

“I do not suppose it would be any comfort to know that, were that the case, I would have never introduced myself to you and your irritating comrades. I would have just struck you dead that day in the Crystarium.”

She said nothing, but the Light-tainted tear that escaped from her left eye spoke volumes.

“Perhaps that might have been a kindness,” he murmured, more to himself than the Warrior. What had he been hoping to achieve, letting her carry on the Exarch’s farce? If he had slain her then, it would have hurt, yes, but it would have also spared her soul. Now it was too late. He could see the damage to her soul, see the cracks deepening every time her body shuddered.

Summer Ruby whispered: “After I turn, what will you do to me?”

“When you turn, your soul’s light will be extinguished and replaced by that of the Lightwardens. You will become the mother of all monsters… And then I will slay you, and use the release of the Light to trigger the next Ardor.”

“There is no other way?”

Emet-Selch shook his head, even though she was not looking at him to see the gesture. “Not now, no. It is too late now for any other course.” 

She coughed, and he saw the blue gleam of her soul fracture. “I understand.” The Warrior lifted her head a last time as though to look at him, but when she opened her left eye the red was obscured by a white glow. “Please, I know we are enemies now, but I would ask one thing of you.”

He reached and lightly touched his fingertips to her chin, to let the woman know he was still there. Her skin burned through his gloves. “Name it, my dear.”

“Be merciful. Make it quick.”

Emet-Selch stared at her, dwelling upon the despair her transformed state would wreak upon the world. That had seemed a pleasant novelty at the time, but…

“As you wish. You will rest ‘neath these dark waters. I promise.”

Her eyes closed. “Thank you.” The Warrior pushed him away. “Go. Get away. I don’t-- I don’t want this to hurt you.”

 _It will destroy me, even if it does not touch me_ , he thought. “You--Your sacrifice will not be forgotten, Summer Ruby.”

She groaned in pain, but he could barely hear it over the sound of her soul cracking apart. “Remember me, Emet-Selch. Remember that I--that I--”

The Warrior collapsed to the ground.

Emet-Selch fled, teleporting to a safer distance even as a burst of Light scorched at his skin. He shielded his eyes, waiting for the Light to fade. It did after a time, drawing back in on itself, revealing the shattered fronts of the buildings lining the avenue they had been standing in.

The Warrior’s Lightwarden was a miserable, hideous thing, Emet-Selch thought. A massive quadrupedal beast, body bristling with gleaming golden spines and glowing chains of Light. It stared in his direction with lidless red eyes and opened its maw, full of innumerable teeth. The Lightwarden roared in a fury, its long serpentine tail smashing into the side of a building.

_Matrisiram. The Mother’s Ire._

He had to be careful. If the beast actually got a hit on him, his soul might actually be in danger of taking damage. So be it, he had brought this upon himself as much as she. He pierced his flesh and called upon his Lord’s blessed darkness to clad him. 

“Persephone,” he whispered, voice a thousand wretched sighs. “I am so sorry, my love.”

Some twenty years passed. Emet-Selch remained busy with his work, assisting Elidibus and the relevant underlings in preparations for the next Ardor. For there were still Ardors to be had--Zenos’ interference on the Source had prevented the Eighth Umbral Calamity from being as all consuming as it could have been. Emet-Selch made a point of returning the troublesome boy to his grave, and there he fortunately stayed.

All was going well, but something called to him, pinged distant on the edge of his Sight, and drew him to what remained of the Holy See of Ishgard. Curious, he made his way to the frigid, half dead place. Not bothering with a vessel, he meandered through the streets until he found the little spark that had drawn his attention.

A young Elezen girl, perhaps five or six years of age, dressed in threadbare and huddling under a ledge in a dirty mess of an alleyway. She was quiet, almost dignified in the way she sat resolved and waiting for her fate. The state of her soul gave him pause--as the Source had just experienced its Eighth Ardor, its broken souls should have been somewhat more robust in appearance. But this unfortunate little urchin had naught but a single lonely shard in her breast.

A single lonely shard, glowing with a faint, aetheric blue light. 

_Persephone’s soul_.

He watched in muted horror as the girl’s eyes closed, and her body slumped forward. The weak blue light fluttered for a moment before breaking free of its housing and fluttering skyward.

Emet-Selch realized, as he watched it drift away, that fractions of Persephone’s soul still remained, still waited on the shards of worlds that had not yet been returned to the Source. They remained, but also never would they make a whole again, never again would there be enough for Persephone to be restored to her past self. When the world was once again whole and their people grand and beautiful--Persephone would not be among them. She would remain one of the weak, shattered beings, and likely end up sacrificed to Zodiark with the other weaker elements.

“What a pity,” a deep voice murmured from a few yalms away.

Emet-Selch looked around, until his eyes settled on the form of an unusually tall man dressed in a nobleman’s finery. He was a robust fellow, with a handsome face that brought to mind that of the late Lord Commander of Ishgard. The Lord Commander had been Summer Ruby’s husband, though none in the See made mention of this when the Warrior of Light never returned and the Lord Commander perished in the Ardor… Emet-Selch felt a chill that was not of the frozen air. The tall young man before him was their son. The little baby boy that Persephone had dreamt of returning home to, now orphaned and alone in a world that was falling apart.

He watched as the young man knelt next to the still body of the girl. Murmured words of a prayer to Halone met his ear, and then the man stood once more and continued on. Emet-Selch stared at the man, observing the color of his soul--a familiar green that he had not seen in decades.

“Oh, no.”

 _Hythlodaeus_.

Understanding cracked his thoughts like a mishandled glass bowl. He had killed Persephone and destroyed half her soul, and condemned Hythlodaeus to a miserable mortal lifetime that would only be fair if it were cut off quickly.

_He had done this to his best friends, to the people he loved above all others._

Horror and revulsion railed hard in his mind, and had he a vessel it would have likely stumbled and collapsed. Emet-Selch quivered all the same and felt violently ill.

“No no no, no no _no_ , _no no no_ \--”

Panic, remorse, reget, and other bitter things that he was not supposed to feel bubbled up inside of his soul, ready to burst out and--

Darkness, blessed, beloved darkness. Zodiark’s calming touch pressed into his mind and took away the pain. Emet-Selch sank to his knees, unable to feel the cold that surrounded him.

Unable to feel anything at all.

It was better this way. He had work to do. He could not falter now, regardless of the costs.

He had to.


	22. Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Zenos, Zenos being Zenos (meaning: killing people to death)

_Prompt 24:_ Confrontation

 _Timeframe:_ HH + 16 years

  
The dying forests of the Black Shroud were an unpleasant enough place to traverse these days. He knew, from past travels and a few ventures out into the wilds with his beloved, that the forests had once been a lush and verdant tangle full of wild beasts and monsters to slay. But the shifting climate that the old man said was due to the slow encroach of the next Calamity had caused much of the eastern side of the forests to dry out and die. Emet-Selch had said it had something to do with a build up of fire aether in the atmosphere, a curious phenomenon that had begun to melt the permafrost of Garlemald and further desiccate the surrounding landscape.

It was here that Zenos Galvus had agreed to travel on behalf of the leader of Ishgard. Aymeric had, in turn, been asking for Emet-Selch, who had gotten himself onto some board of trusts or another that was being staked out for development to help protect Ishgard from future freeze and famine. Emet-Selch had insisted that there were some plant samples to be found out in the dry wilds outside of Gridania that were critical for the development of new greenhouses. Zenos had agreed to the task, even though he was uncertain why the indolent old man couldn’t just handle the job himself.

The journey got him out of the frozen city for a few hours, at least. The cold did not bother Zenos, no, he was a proper boy of Garlemald, but it was still nice to walk through the woods and not subconsciously be keeping track of how long he could stay out before having to concern himself with losing a toe to frostbite.

He stopped and opened a flask of water, taking a sip as he unfolded a piece of paper and studied the drawing of a type of foliage sketched on its surface. Some sort of berry, the Ascian had noted. There would be no flowers or berries to be found this time of year, but the lack of such temptations should make it easier to gather the brush without upsetting hungry wildlife. Zenos continued on, and was studying the pattern in the bark of a massive old tree when he became aware that he was not alone in the woods. He considered his bearings, and came to the quiet conclusion that he might have wandered too far east in his search for a plant.

“Who goes there?” A sharp, tense, somewhat anxious female voice. Zenos thought perhaps he had heard the voice before, but if he had it had not been a person he considered important enough to apply a matching face in his memory. That was an admittedly short list: family members, loved ones, people who owed him a debt, people he had silently promised to kill when no one was watching…

Ah, yes. There was a face, nearly faded from memory, that he could attach to the irritating voice. A woman of grating nature but minimal importance in his own life, a somewhat shrill harpy who did not know when to shut her--

“I said, who goes there? Identify yourself!” The woman shouted again. Zenos sighed and half turned. There, coming from the northeast, was a blonde woman clad in red and flanked by three soldiers of some variety. He ignored the flare of anger on the woman’s face when she saw him, and instead considered the risk of her guards. Three young men, babes with shortswords in their hands, all looking uneasy at their leader’s agitation. No challenge, no concern--Zenos knew he would be able to dispatch the guards without having to draw his sword.

But, where was the fun in that?

He smirked and spoke slowly. “My name is Zenos Galvus. I am but a humble envoy of the High Lady of Ishgard.” He met the woman’s gaze. “You know, the Warrior of Light.”

“I know who you are!” the woman spat. “How dare you walk in these lands as though you have any right to be anywhere other than a hole in the ground!”

“There is a preference for crypts in Ishgard,” he replied lazily. “‘Tis a bit too frozen for traditional Eorzean burials, I am afraid.” Zenos grinned toothily. “And in my motherland we preferred a proper cremation, thank you.”

“Silence, you monster!” A strange little look of triumph appeared on the woman’s face. “Your precious Warrior of Light isn’t here to hold you back today, is she? She isn’t here to keep you from getting into trouble. If she was, she would know not to let someone like you go into Ala Mhigan territory.”

Ala Mhigan territory? This was news to Zenos. He had only kept a passing interest in politics since coming to Ishgard, but Aymeric was always chatty after his second glass of wine and ready to unload his complaints to any willing ear by the end of supper. Zenos, by merit of this, probably knew more about the internal politics of Eorzea than most of the leaders of Eorzea did. In exchange, Zenos had gotten to enjoy a generous amount of dessert, which he did not mind as the Borels had one of the better bakers in Ishgard under their employ. Sometimes he was even given leftovers to take back to his little cottage in the Firmament, and even a monster like Zenos Galvus could appreciate delicious leftovers. All for the price of listening to Aymeric tipsily complain about the rest of Eorzea.

So he knew, as the woman gnashed her teeth at him, that he was definitely still in territory held and overseen by the leadership of Gridania.

“Yours is a strange overreaction,” Zenos said, putting on an even more bored air than he was feeling. (He thought perhaps the old man might be pleased with his subdued theatrics.) “I was under the impression that Ishgard is still in an Alliance with the other Eorzean states. You know: Gridania, Limsa Lominsa, Ul’dah, _and_ Ala Mhigo. Am I mistaken?”

“You are not mistaken,” the woman said with a sneer. “But despite being pardoned and given citizenship in Ishgard, you are still considered a criminal in the rest of Eorzea, and wanted dead in Ala Mhigo.”

“Well, then it is fortunate that you are no guard of Gridania, which has never seen a need to arrest me during my many visits there in the last decade and a half. Equally fortunate am I that I am, in fact, not in Ala Mhigo.”

The woman’s fist swung out, cracking the bark of a tree as it connected. “By Rhalgr, I really don’t give a piss if we’re that far west or not!”

“My Lady, do you think this is wise?” whispered one of the attendants. “Whoever the man is, he hasn’t done anything in our presence to justify arrest.”

“Who said anything about arrest? He doesn’t deserve chains, he deserves _death_. And I intended to give it to him, and make sure he stays in the ground this time!”

“An unprovoked attack against a peaceful citizen of Ishgard,” Zenos said dryly. “How loathsome.”

The woman lifted her fisted hands. “You should have just stayed on your little frozen throne if you didn’t want to face the repercussions of your past actions!”

Zenos did not move. He kept his hands loose at his sides, the instructions from Emet-Selch still held lightly between the fingers of his right hand. He wondered idly what the woman might do. Did she think that the passage of time had slowed him down? That the slight graying of his hair belied a decay in his skill? She was a fool if she thought so.

“If I might ask before you throw yourselves at my mercy: what are you doing out here?”

The woman snorted. “I was training these men on border patrol.”

Zenos smirked. “More’s the pity that you brought them to their deaths.” He kept his hands still. “You intended to take me out with, what, your fists and three rusted swords? I am nearly insulted. Nearly.” He lifted his chin and studied the young men. “More irritated that you are wasting my time.”

“All the people that you killed--”

“Are long dead,” Zenos said. “They will take no joy or pleasure or any sort of worth at all from your futile attempt to claim some kind of vengeance for them more than a decade after their death. If their spirits yet cling to this world, they should come and take their grievances up with me directly. Otherwise, they should pass on to the Lifestream and wait out their next chance at life.”

“How dare you speak to me like that! Do you have any idea who I am?”

“I do not care. Who you are does not matter to me in the slightest.” He slowly folded the piece of paper and tucked it into his belt. Zenos held the woman’s angry gaze. “And, because I know that my conflux will be indifferent to your fate, as you have done naught but insult her whenever you get the chance, you should know that I will speak to no one of what transpires here. No one will know what happened to you. The beasts of these woods are hungry and will gladly crack open your bones long before any patrol wanders out this far off the beaten paths.”

He was aware of the young men shifting uneasily on their feet. 

“Perhaps it is for the better. No one ought to know that the guard of Ala Mhigo would attack a man who had not even given them cause to do so.” He gestured at the hilt of his sword, still untouched at his hip. 

“You’re Zenos Galvus. No one will care if you drew your weapon before you died.”

Zenos shrugged. “Have it your way, then.”

“You will not leave these woods alive!”

The woman threw herself at him fist first, still bumbling and slow in his mind’s eye despite having the natural advantage of aetheric manipulation on her side. He stepped out of her way and turned on his heel to avoid the attacks of the first two guards. The third he stopped with the heel of his palm to the man’s chin. He pulled the sword from the man’s hand, used it to slash open the fellow’s throat, and then repeated the movement with the second and third guard. The woman recovered from her miss and turned on him. She opened her mouth--to taunt him or condemn him, he neither knew nor cared--and lunged at him.

He waited until she was too close to change her course, and lifted the blade. The woman threw herself upon it, too cleanly for his tastes, and he twisted the blade until the sounds that escaped her were more to his liking. She may have sworn at him, but he cared not to listen.

If anyone were ever to think to ask the man, Zenos would have admitted a certain flash of satisfaction while he watched the realization flicker across the woman’s face as she died. He could not help but remember the way the woman had treated his Aesta, the cruel words she had thrown at his love. To treat her so harshly when she had done nothing truly wrong. Sling all the barbs and arrows of the world at him, and he would not deny them, for he had earned them. But his Aesta was a good woman, whose only sin was to continue loving him.

Zenos focused on the bodies with his Resonance, until he was certain all four were carrion for the scavengers. Then he retrieved the folded paper from his belt, and continued on through the dry undergrowth in search of a particular shrub.


	23. Laugh

_Prompt 25:_ Laugh

_Timeframe:_ HH + 25 years

Summer Ruby tilted her head back and watched as several men lowered a large panel of glass into place. The glass was of a special variety, tinted and treated and crafted to Emet-Selch’s rather exacting standards. The panel settled into its spot, and other workers hurried to begin welding it into place. The tenth of an allotted dozen massive greenhouses was nearing completion, and the Warrior of Light felt a certain sense of satisfaction as she studied the structure. The buildings were scattered in different locations around the See, to avoid potential loss of all of them due to some unforeseen accident. The nine greenhouses already in place were fruitful beyond what the Houses had hoped they had been when the project had been first suggested nearly twenty years before. Plenty of food for the people of Ishgard, regardless of how cold it got--Emet-Selch had taken what he had learned in Garlemald and applied it to the buildings here. No matter how much ice and snow built up on the exterior of the buildings, they remained pleasant and productive on the inside. Even when another Calamity struck--a great freeze, per Elidibus’ reckoning in perhaps another fifteen years--Ishgard would not falter. It was as the Convocation had promised Matrisiram. Her people would be protected.

The greenhouses had brought a bit of extra prosperity to the people, as those of the other Eorzean states were struggling to get by in the wake of the Eighth Umbral Calamity. Gridania especially eyed the harvests with hunger, as the Calamity’s fires had decimated large swaths of their forests and farmland. The plants collected by Zenos from the forests a decade before, and cultivated by the See’s skilled botanists all looked quite tempting to the Gridanian. There had been brief murmurs of possible fighting breaking out over supplies, but in the end the Gridanians had settled for trade.

They dared not fight, not when Ishgard was so well protected. If the leaders of Ishgard had taken any umbrage to being beholden to the Warrior of Light and her Garlean knight for protection, they had kept it to themselves. When the last of the attacks from Garlemald had come before the Calamity--a Calamity that had literally incinerated the Empire’s frozen capital and crippled its forces immensely--the Warrior and her Knight had driven them away like so many desperate sheep. And so the allies of Ishgard had continued to hold out their hands and politely ask for aid from the See, and Summer Ruby knew that the leadership of Ishgard had taken no small amount of pleasure in lording their bounty over the other nations. The nations of Eorzea had not hidden their disdain and disapproval of Ishgard when Zenos had been pardoned, and had withheld any offers of aid later on when it might have been needed.

She thought of all this as she pulled up the hood of her cloak and head outside. A path had been carved into the fulms deep snow, and the cheerful sound of productivity met her ears as she wound her way through the frigid landscape and back to the paddock where her chocobo was waiting.

It was a nice day, for once, the perpetual haze that had followed the Calamity finally thinning enough to let the pleasant gleam of the sun through.

Back in Ishgard proper the city streets were bustling. She spotted a refugee here and there, though the Houses had made a point of limiting the number of outsiders that were presently being let in. Ishgard’s own natural population had been booming in the last few years, and the peculiarly structured city was already busy working to making enough housing for its newer residents. There was a reluctance to send the refugees to the Brume, and so they simply were not permitted in past the Gates. In its stead, the area around Camp Dragonhead had begun to be visibly dotted with little refugee camps full of Gridanians hoping to partake in the bounty of the See.

The guards all smartly saluted her as she made her way through the streets. Summer Ruby no longer knew, not much cared, if the salutes were because of her status as the Warrior of Light and protector of Ishgard, or because she was the wife of the Lord Speaker and mother of the man who was a shoo-in for the new Lord Commander whenever his father decided to step down from the position. It would not be long, the rumors said. Summer Ruby added no fuel to those flames, but knew that Aymeric had been considering retirement from the Congregation as he neared his sixtieth nameday.

She knew the eyes of Ishgard were upon her as she made her way to Borel manor. She knew the words they murmured in her wake:  _ How fortunate are we, to be so blessed by Halone! To have such protection from those who would bring our great nation harm! _ Summer Ruby did not know what the people would say, or how they would even behind to think, were they to learn that the protection they had been given was crafted by the very same souls whom they hoped to be protected from. It was better they did not know, she mused, though she knew it a sad reality that the people again had a secret kept from them.

Another century, and it would not matter.

But, in the meantime, Summer Ruby intended to keep her people safe. Even if that did mean keeping them in the dark.

When she neared the front doors to the manor, she sensed her conflux’s aether. This was a touch curious, as Zenos had not been in any mental communication with her since she had left to survey the progress on the greenhouse several hours before. She entered her home and let the steward take her coat. Zenos was easy enough to find, though she was uncertain why he was pacing the length of the dining hall.

“Zenos?”

The Garlean stopped in mid-step, and nearly stumbled in his haste to meet her.

“Aesta.”

She thought Zenos had an impish look to him, like a child that wanted to share the delights of the trouble that he had gotten himself into.

“What is it, Zenos?”

His eyes widened slightly, and the big man clasped one of her hands between his own. “Do you know what today is?”

Summer Ruby considered, but could think of no holidays on the Halonic calendar, and shook her head. “No, tell me.”

“Today marks the anniversary of the first time I came to Ishgard,” Zenos said. Summer Ruby blinked in surprise.

“I hadn’t realized,” she said. “But, why do you remember that?”

His eyes gleamed. “Because, that is the day my life changed. I did not realize it then, of course, but had I not come to Ishgard that evening in search of you, my life would have turned out quite differently. Dreadfully so, I fear.”

Thinking of a life without Zenos in it was something unpleasant indeed. Perhaps laughable in its insanity a few decades earlier, but such was the world they lived in and the life she had been born into. She smiled up at him.

“Well, then, there is something I wish to tell you today. Think of it as a gift to mark the occasion.”

The big Garlean rumbled curiously and cocked his head to the side. “Go on.”

"I want to--no," she shook her head. "I  _ need _ to tell you, Zenos."

"What, then? Tell me."

Summer Ruby gazed up at him. "I love you. Not as Persephone to her Rigel, but as me to you. Your Aesta to my Zenos."

He stared back at her.

After a moment, his eyes squinted shut like he did when he was smiling. Zenos' mouth opened, and a sound escaped.

He laughed.

Not a dark and sinister thing, neither something borne of misfortune or madness. Just a simple, ringing sound of happiness laced with just a hint of relief.

Summer Ruby tipped her head to the side. "Zenos?"

He smiled, fingers curling in the collar of his tunic. "I must admit, I was a touch worried that you were going to cast me out."

"Now, why would I do that?"

He reflected her own smile and laughed again. "I don't honestly know." Zenos leaned down and whispered, intense and sincere: “I love you, too.”

It gave the Ascian pause, the strange, joyous sound echoing down the cold halls. Emet-Selch stopped and turned his head, listening, and considered that he had never heard that particular sound before. He smiled and shook his head, and continued down the hall until he reached Merle’s bedroom door.


	24. Infinity

_Prompt 26:_ Infinity

 _Timeframe_ : HH + 90 years

The beginning of an Ardor was a peculiar thing, once she was made aware of it. There was a subtle but definite shift in the world around her, something barely perceived by the smallfolk, but beyond her ability to ignore. It was part of her duty as Matrisiram, after all, to be attentive to that detail. An Ardor went in carefully managed stages. It was not, as the outside world perceived, a single calamitous event. An Ardor might begin years before it reached its destructive climax, or it might occur relatively quickly. Each one was different, Elidibus had explained to her years before, when the Eighth Ardor consumed Garlemald. Each shard had its own careful balance that had to be managed in sync with that of the Source. In the earlier days, millennia ago, there had been less of the Source and so more time had been required between each Ardor in order to protect the delicate star from harm. But now, as work neared its completion, relatively little time was needed to prepare the Source for the arrival of its next shard.

Emet-Selch had warned her that the next two Ardors--the eleventh and twelfth, would be different somehow. _Messy_ , he had termed it, though she was uncertain how they could be any more messy than the previous events. The eleventh Ardor was a carefully constructed complex event happening after a great deal of painstaking work done by Fandaniel and Halmarut and Altima. A salvaging effort, Emet-Selch had deemed it. The Thirteenth shard had been rendered into an awful Void countless years ago, and this shard’s Ardor was less a proper calamity and more a careful funneling of resources back to the Source. The trio had spent countless hours scraping through the tattered souls and essences of everything on the Thirteenth, until they felt they had reclaimed as much as possible from the ruined world. 

It would not be perfect, they had admitted to the Matrisiram. Not perfect, nothing was ever going to be perfect again, but it would be as absolutely close to perfect as they could manage. The bewilderingly complex report she had been given to read indicated that they had reconstituted hundreds of thousands of voidsent into something vaguely resembling the original structure of their soul shards. It would have to do, they insisted, they had gotten as much blood from stones as could be hoped.

She knew little of the intent of the twelfth Ardor, as no reports had been forthcoming about that project.

But now, Emet-Selch had told her a few days previous, the gates had been directed and opened. The slurry of carefully recovered soul shards had begun to pass back through to the Source.

And Summer Ruby had felt it--had felt the strange surge of energy in her veins when she awoke during a blizzard. Zenos had slept through it all, but she was rather certain that her husband could sleep through an entire calamity if he felt so inclined.

She paced the length of the hall in the manor, back and forth, until after a third or fourth circuit she turned and collided with the Ascian.

“Oh-!” She stopped and let herself be folded into his arms. “Hades.”

“Are you alright, Percy?”

“I’m fine,” Summer Ruby said.

“You’re going to wear a rut in the floorboards,” he said in a gentle tease. Emet-Selch released her and rested his hands on her shoulders. His golden eyes peered up into her face. “If something troubles you, my dear, you know you can talk to me about it.”

“I know,” she said, but did not continue. “What are you doing awake?”

“If you must inquire, I was going to fetch some tea for Hy---for Merle.” Emet-Selch cleared his throat. “Honestly, I could just, you know, snap him up some lovely tea, but no, he says it tastes peculiar.” He guided them toward the dining hall.

“And, how is Merle doing?” Summer Ruby knew, yes, that her son was the reincarnation of her old friend Haurchefant, and in turn even older friend Hythlodaeus. Emet-Selch had sheepishly admitted this to her some years before, when she had happened upon he and her son holding hands and kissing in the library. She had not been angry at the secret being kept from her, no, she thought she understood her friends’ logic. But, still Merle was her son and she had a difficult time thinking of him as Hythlodaeus, even though his behavior had definitely begun to reflect this with the passing of years. 

“He is doing fine, only in want of some tea. Now, back to my question. How are you feeling, Percy? Something is clearly weighing on your thoughts, or you wouldn’t be up so late.”

Summer Ruby smiled, although she thought she could almost feel irked by his point blank observations.

“I do not know how to explain the feeling,” she said. “I asked Zenos, and he said he didn’t feel anything different. And I don’t know if he’s being honest or just being Zenos, you know?” She idly twisted the two bands on her ring finger. One was the wedding ring Aymeric had given her long ago, and nestled on top of that was the simple band of white gold that she had exchanged with Zenos a few years after Aymeric’s passing. Even now she could feel the lingering hint of Zenos’ aether in the band. It was a strange comfort, whenever they were apart.

“From what I have observed, the effects of additional soul shards have been different for each person.” Emet-Selch’s slippers tapped noisily on the stone floor as he continued on to the kitchen. “The average, unawakened smallfolk don’t notice anything at all, which is for the best really, no sense in getting everyone worked up now when our work is nearly done. It is entirely possible that Zenos is so hard headed that he simply doesn’t notice the difference in how he feels.” He flashed a thin smile at her, and she rolled her eyes.

“He’s gotten better. He’s so much sweeter.”

“Still won’t forgive me for my sins,” Emet-Selch muttered as he opened a cabinet and considered its contents. Summer Ruby shook her head.

“And, he isn’t obligated to. We’ve talked about that.”

The Ascian sighed as he retrieved a tin from the cupboard. “I know, I know.”

“And, what of _your_ conflux?” she asked, unable to resist a barb despite its somewhat awkward nature. “How is he faring?”

A blush appeared on Emet-Selch’s pale cheeks. He cleared his throat. “Your little Merle, my little Hythlodaeus, hm? He is doing well enough. He’s getting old, of course, but…” He waved a hand. “He’ll survive a few more decades.”

Summer Ruby knew what he was implying. The Ascian had not been terribly covert about using his own aether and magicks to slow the aging of her son. He had wept to her about it years ago, asking for her permission as Merle’s mother to do so, saying that he did not want to run the risk of losing track of Hythlodaeus again so soon before the final Ardor. She had relented, but told him that the final word was up to Merle. From what she could tell, he had consented to whatever Emet-Selch was doing, as despite being past his ninetieth nameday now, Merle was still fairly spry and didn’t look past his early sixties.

He still looked older than she did, of course, but she was a Viera and that could not be helped. He looked older than Zenos as well, but the Garlean still looking young despite being past a hundred and ten years now was at best chalked up to a combination of him having died previously and having a ridiculously strong will.

“His soul sight becomes increasingly keen with each Ardor,” Emet-Selch said as he waited for water to heat. “His creation skills are… well they aren’t completely up to snuff yet, but it is entertaining to watch him mess around with basic concepts. He could have summoned up his own tea, to be honest.”

Summer Ruby leaned against the counter. “With the shard from the Thirteenth, I am at thirteen shards myself. Or, at least, as close to that as is possible.”

“Should be very close,” Emet-Selch said with a pleased little smirk. “Altima said your shard was in quite good condition in a suitably impressive voidsent. An intelligent being, that consented to its own release.”

“It wanted to be saved?”

He smiled. “Yes, it did. Altima said the great beast thanked her and kneeled before her, and she had to hold back Fandaniel so he didn’t go and stab it all willy-nilly while Halmarut completed the reconstruction.”

Summer Ruby pressed a hand to her breast. “I wonder what it must have been like, to have dwelt in that darkness for so very long. Do you think I could remember, if I tried to?”

The Ascian hummed in thought. “Perhaps, but also perhaps not. The aetheric lattices of the shard had to be heavily restructured in order to preserve its essence, so I am uncertain of what memories it might retain.”

“I see.” She shrugged. “Probably for the best that I cannot recall, right?”

“That’s right.”

She closed her eyes. “It is still a strange feeling, though, being… so close to complete. It’s strange, the closeness is almost tangible. Does that make sense?”

“Tangible how?”

“I feel like…” Summer Ruby cracked her eyes open and held out her hand. “Say you nap too hard and wake up and your arm’s gone numb from how you were reclining. You know your arm is still there, somewhere, but cannot feel it. The sensation is sort of like that, but… not a physical thing.” She looked at her hand. “Do you remember when I returned you to the First? And cast you into the Lifestream?”

Emet-Selch beamed at her. “Of course I do, dearest.”

“I remember… looking into that well, that you had created as a representation of the entrance to the Lifestream. Looking into it, I felt as though I was staring into the depths of infinity. I sort of feel like that now.”

He tapped a spoon on the side of the tea kettle. “That may be because your soul is still… resettling itself. You have regained another seven percent or so of the total mass of your soul.” Emet-Selch tilted his head and smiled fondly as he looked at her. “It is beautiful.”

“My soul?”

He nodded. “Indeed. It makes me so very happy to see your soul like this. So brilliant… it is something of a nostalgic feeling, to look at it.”

“Well, as long as you aren’t weeping over it.”

The Ascian huffed a soft laugh. “No, I do not think I’ll be doing any weeping right now. Not with completion drawing ever so close.”

“Another decade, Emet-Selch.”

“Yes, yes, your precious century. It shall remain as promised. Though, surely you must understand our enthusiasm by now.”

“I do.” She smiled at him as he prepared the tea tray. “But, I think I would like to keep being Summer Ruby for a little while longer.”

“As you will, my dear. Now, go back to bed. If naught else, wake up that conflux of yours and get him to tire you out.”

Summer Ruby winked at him. “Perhaps I will.”


	25. Drink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Discussion of depression, mentions of suicidal thoughts.

_Prompt 27:_ Drink

_Timeframe_ : HH + 6 years

  
  


The Warrior of Light sat alone in the dining hall, a glass half full of wine next to her right hand. She looked up at his arrival, and Aymeric did not miss the sadness in her eyes.

“Are you alright, my love?”

Summer Ruby picked up the glass. “I’m fine.” Her flat tone implied otherwise.

“I’m fine, too,” he said with a weary sigh. The motion caused a twinge of pain in his side, left over from the latest attempt on his life by the discontent of Ishgard. “Do you mind if I join you?”

She gestured at the bottle. “Grab a glass.”

He retrieved a wine glass from the cabinet at the far end of the hall and returned, sitting across from her at the table.

“Where is Merle?” Aymeric asked as he poured himself some of the dark red contents of the bottle.

“Already in bed,” she said. Summer Ruby leaned on the table and sighed. “My apologies, my dear heart, today is just one of those days that weighs heavily on my soul.”

“Trouble with the Ascians?”

She shook her head. “Fortunately, no. All is well in that area.” She closed her eyes. “I don’t really want to talk about it, if that’s alright with you.”

He wet his throat with the contents of the glass. “While I do wish you would share your ails with me, I understand that there are some things that weigh upon your mind that I cannot hope to attempt to fathom the depths of.” Aymeric smiled mirthlessly. “I am but a simple man of Ishgard, after all.”

Summer Ruby sighed. “It is not your fault, my love.”

For several minutes they sat in mutual silence. He observed as Summer Ruby’s brow creased with some unpleasant ponderance. The look made him uncomfortable--he felt as though he were at fault for its cause, even though he was fairly certain that he was not. Something dark slithered through his thoughts. 

Aymeric watched as his wife took a sip of wine. “You know, there was a time when I was younger that I was of what one might call a… morose personality.”

“You?” she said, sounding half disinterested.

“Yes, me.” He sighed and topped off his glass. “I know I made it out well enough for myself in the end, I am here with you and have a family and power and  _ meaning _ to my life now, but it wasn’t always the case.”

Summer Ruby said nothing, dark thumb tracing a circuit around the lip of her glass.

“It is not something that I care to admit,” Aymeric said. “Not even to our dear Estinien, who has seen me while I was at my worst.”

“Admit what?”

“There were times, when I was younger…” He hesitated. “Not all that young, if we’re being quite honest, and not all that terribly long ago. But, there were times when I… in my darker times, I contemplated ending myself. The Sea of Clouds was a tempting sight more often than it should have been.”

She frowned and looked away from the fire. “You thought of suicide?”

Aymeric shifted his weight, trying not to grimace at the flash of pain in his side. He considered how honest he was comfortable being with his own wife about his problems. “I did. Sometimes, I still do. It is so easy to stand out on the ramparts and stare out into the clouds and just… think about taking a step off.”

“For my own selfish reasons, I am glad that you have not given in to that urge,” his wife murmured. She took a gulp of wine. “I can’t say that I’ve had the same inclinations, but I can understand sometimes just wanting to… stop the star and get off.”

He nodded, quietly glad that there was no pity in her eyes. “I suppose I should have talked about this sooner, but…”

“I’m flattered that you feel comfortable talking to me about this at all,” she said. “What changed, then? To free you of your morose feelings?”

“I… can’t say that I am completely free of them.” He swallowed and drained half of his glass while he stalled and thought. “In a fashion, you could say that I found enough reasons to keep moving forward, that when the darker thoughts do creep in, it is easier to ignore them. So many good things have come into my life, reasons to be happy, that my heart is sufficiently well fed and left with no appetite for self-destructive behavior.”

Summer Ruby set down her glass and reached for him. Her dark fingers hooked under his chin and tilted his head to the side. She peered at him, some great unknowable thought in her mind, before releasing her grip and returning to her drink.

“There are still times where it is difficult,” he conceded. “Plenty of times I feel as though I am insufficient, for you, for our family, for Ishgard… It makes my heart ache with despair.”

She tipped her head back, eyes slightly unfocused as they trained on the ceiling. After a long moment of silence, she murmured: “Zenos must not have been a help.”

Aymeric considered her comment, and then shook his head. “Quite the contrary, if I must be honest.”

She looked at him, a red brow arching with curiosity. “Truly?”

“Indeed.” He laughed, contrite, into the bottom of his glass. “I mean, when he first arrived, no, of course not. We both know how… rough of a time that was.” Aymeric lifted the wine bottle, noted its decreased weight, and poured himself another half-glass. “I still harbor no pride in the way that I reacted to that.”

“It was a reasonable reaction,” she said. “I cheated on you.”

“Yes, but--” He sighed. “There’s no sense in dredging the worst of that up now.”

Summer Ruby made a noise of agreement. “But, now?”

“In the past few years, Zenos has made me feel appreciated, strangely enough. Not by his manners, of course. You’d think he was raised in a bar and not a palace.” They both chuckled. “But in his actions. I know that what he does, he does for you. That is no secret. But he does it so casually... “ His thoughts wandered. “He was a prince, until he came here. And while he does keep a certain disdainful distance from everyone else in Ishgard, he does not approach me with similar condescension. He treats me like an equal.”

Her right ear twitched. “And that bothers you?”

“No! No, of course not. Far from it. As I said, it brings me a strange comfort. After all, if a man like him, who cares for so very little, finds me within the limits of something that is worthwhile to be concerned over, then... “ Aymeric smiled. “Perhaps there is some hope for me yet, eh?”


	26. Pillow

_Prompt 28:_ Pillow

_Timeframe:_ HH + 62 years

The manor was quiet when Summer Ruby returned from a trip to the markets in the Firmament. She handed her bags off to the steward, and went in search of any signs of life in the old house. She knew her conflux was not home--he was at the Congregation putting the latest batch of recruits through their paces--but could still sense the lingering energy of Emet-Selch’s soul somewhere nearby.

She did not have to go far in her search. The heavy door to the library was cracked ajar, and a warm draft seeped out into the hallway. Summer Ruby gently pushed the door open--if Emet-Selch was taking a nap, she did not really want to disturb him. She poked her head beyond the threshold and looked into the room.

Emet-Selch was not taking a nap.

No, the Ascian was most certainly awake, though he _was_ leaning back into a decorative pillow while quite enthusiastically kissing the former Lord Regent of Ishgard. Their hands were clasped together, fingers entwined as though they were in the midst of a very complicated dip during a ballroom dance.

Her son. Emet-Selch was very enthusiastically making out with _her son_.

“What--” The word escaped her even as she was uncertain she really wanted to know the answer to the immediate question. A pair of surprised grunts came from the direction of the couch. Her son’s head was the first to peek sheepishly up at her.

“Mama!”

Emet-Selch managed to croak out: “S-Summer Ruby…” Both men shifted to a seated position on the sofa.

“Emet-Selch--” Her ears twitched as she looked from the Ascian to her son and back. “What in the seven hells are you--”

“Percy, please!” It was Merle who cried out. “Do not place all the blame on him. We are both at fault in this. If there is such a thing as _fault_ to be considered anymore.”

Summer Ruby looked at her son. “Where did you hear that name?”

“There is a natural chance that I have overheard it in my younger years, as Hades has never been very discreet when it comes to talking to you like you are an entirely different person to him from the Warrior of Light,” Merle said. He tapped his fingers on his collarbone. “But I know it from inside, from my soul. That is where such things are kept, after all.”

“Your soul?”

“Yes,” he said. There was something cheeky in his tone. “Though there are those in the House of Lords that would have said I did not have one.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Quite simply put: I am the current incarnation of the man you once knew as Hythlodaeus.”

Summer Ruby stared at her son, her brain struggling to accept the words that had come from his mouth.

“It is the truth, Percy,” said Emet-Selch, his voice a strained whisper.

Her mind turned the words over and over, trying to sort between feelings of disbelief and confusion and a touch of anger.

“And how long has this--” she gestured between the men “--been going on? In this lifetime? That you’ve been hiding it from me?”

The Ascian’s cheeks pinked. “It isn’t like that, Percy, honestly. We didn’t tell you sooner because we knew you wouldn’t want to tell Aymeric, and you would feel guilty for not doing so. We, ah, decided the best course of action was to wait to tell you until after he had passed.”

“Aymeric has been gone now for nearly five years,” she said. “How long, then?”

“Ah, do you remember after the Eighth Ardor? And you called me here because young Merle had taken mysteriously ill?” Emet-Selch gestured at the taller man. “He wasn’t so much ill, more… pining. For me.” 

She did the math quickly. “Forty years?”

“More or less, yes.”

Summer Ruby considered her son’s actions. He had been busy, being the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights for a long time before eventually being promoted to the newly formed office of Lord Regent after Aymeric had decided to retire from functioning as the Lord Speaker of the House of Lords. It had been a busy time, and her son had never married… 

“I suppose that does go some distance to explain why you never really seriously courted anyone,” she said. “Though, it did worry your father and I. We didn’t want you to be lonely.”

“I wasn’t lonely,” Merle said. “Well, most of the time.”

She tapped at her chin. “Though, whatever happened to that young woman? Josette Verit, wasn’t it? We thought you two were serious, but then after a few years she just… disappeared.”

“Oh, that was me,” said Emet-Selch. Merle nodded.

“What?”

“Josette was me. Or rather, a glamour I took on so that we could go out in public together.” The Ascian gave a cheeky grin.

“You--” Summer Ruby stared at him, and then shook her head. “I shouldn’t be all that surprised at this point, should I.”

“Perhaps not, my dear.”

She sighed. “I suppose it does explain why the girl never came around when Zenos was here. And why Aymeric always thought there was something peculiar about her.”

“And why she disappeared when I had to leave to help initiate the Ninth Ardor,” Emet-Selch said.

“That too.” She frowned. “I don’t know; I still feel a bit betrayed that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me about this sooner.”

“It was not an issue of not trusting you, Mama--Percy--bother that is as weird as we thought it would be…” Merle looked at Emet-Selch and shrugged. The Ascian sighed.

“What he is saying is that we knew you well enough, trusted you well enough to know that you would understand the necessity for the deception, and be willing to move past it.”

“Maybe I do.” She crossed her arms. “But, without anyone able to confirm what you’re telling me, how am I to know that this isn’t just some fancy you planted in his head when he was younger?”

“Hades wouldn’t do that,” Merle said.

“Zenos could--no, I suppose he wouldn’t know Hythlodaeus’ soul if he saw it, would he.” Emet-Selch sighed. “Please, Percy, you know I do not lie to you. Even this wasn’t really a lie.”

“I asked you once, when he was a baby, if you recognized his soul. And you said you did not.”

“Because, yes, at the time, I did not recognize his soul. He was a _baby_ , Percy. It’s very difficult to discern the nature of a soul when they’re a baby, unless they’re of a particularly strong will.” Emet-Selch shrugged. “Like Zenos’ soul. I recognized it when he was first born, though not specifically as Rigel, but as a soul that had been angrily trailing me for millennia.”

“I would have never thought of Hythlo as being _meek_ ,” she said.

“Neither would I.” The Ascian chuckled. “But, as you know, he had recently experienced a rather violent physical death. I suspect he was just… recuperating. And enjoying being a baby.”

“I was a very cute baby,” Merle said.

“Don’t push your luck.” Summer Ruby said. She drummed her fingers on her bicep. “If you are really our dear friend Hythlodaeus, with his memories at least moderately restored, tell me something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Think of something that Hythlodaeus would have known, and Persephone would have known, but Hades would not have.”

“Hm hm. That is a high order,” Merle said, tapping his knuckles pensively on his chin. “There was very little that I kept secret from him.”

Summer Ruby combed through her own scattered memories, until something from her distant youth came to light. “What about our first date?”

“He knows about that, Percy.”

“Yes,” said Emet-Selch. “You two went to the theater--one of the early Nabriales’ great epics, I believe. A man falling in love with a goose, or something to that effect. And then you went and had dinner at the diner near campus afterwards.”

“That’s all true,” Summer Ruby said. “But, what did we talk about over dinner?”

“Ah. I can’t say I know that.” Emet-Selch tipped his head toward his shoulder and looked thoughtful. “No, I don’t suppose that topic ever came up. I assumed you just talked about the play.”

“We talked about you, Hades,” said Merle. His cheeks pinked and he looked to Summer Ruby. “We did talk about the play a little bit, but mostly we just talked about Hades. We were both young and stupid and smitten with him. That was the whole reason we dated, really. Trying to get him to react, make some kind of jealous move.”

“You--you talked about _me?_ ” The Ascian looked dumbfounded. He closed his eyes and sighed. “We were a right gathering of idiots, weren’t we.”

“At times, yes.” Summer Ruby sighed. “I suppose that’s sufficient enough proof of concept for now. Though… what happened to Merle?”

“What do you mean?” asked the man in question. “I’m Merle.”

“But, you’re Hythlodaeus.”

He shrugged and looked down at her. “That doesn't mean I’m not Merle. Merle is just a reincarnation of Hythlodaeus, just like Haurchefant was before me. When I began to regain my memories, they were just there. As though they always had been, and I had simply misplaced them with the passage of time.”

“Like the pages of a forgotten journal,” Summer Ruby murmured. Merle smiled brightly.

“Yes, just so! That’s a very clever analogy.”

“That’s how it was for me.”

“Well, then, you must understand, right? You did not stop being _you_ , Summer Ruby, Warrior of Light, savior of Eorzea, mother of the cutest baby in Ishgard and all that other good business just because you began to remember being Persephone?”

“True. I suppose it is more of an observational difference on my part. I’ve always viewed Merle as just… my son. Not as my son who is also secretly one of my old best friends.”

Merle shrugged. “It’s just how it is, I’m afraid. Give it another fifty years or so, and it might not matter at all.”

“That is a rather morbid way of viewing it,” she said, hoping that he meant the eventual Great Rejoining and not her son’s mortal death.

“Morbid or realistic. Maybe even optimistic, hm? Some part of me does look forward to being whole again.” He smiled and pressed a hand to his chest. “Alive and with the people I love the most.”

“While I do look forward to it, some part of me is a little afraid of leaving this life behind. It is all I really know in this lifetime, you know?”

“It is only natural to fear the unknown and uncertain,” said Emet-Selch. “But, you will not be alone. Hythlodaeus and I will be with you, as will your conflux.”

She swallowed. “That is true. We will go through this together, for better or worse.”

“Gracious, mother, but you do know how to suck the joy out of a situation,” said Merle. He reached and took her hand. “I know this situation, with Hades and I, is still disconcerting for you, but I must say, I was quite gladdened to have you as my mother in this lifetime. What joy, to feel the love and devotion of one of my dearest friends on such a level.”

Emet-Selch chuckled. “It is a bit peculiar, yes, but we decided to not dwell too heavily on it.”

Summer Ruby sighed. “I suppose that explains why you were just an impish but loving child. Even with your soul unawakened, some aspects could not help but shine through. Haurchefant was similar in that fashion.”

“It _is_ a pity I never succeeded in bedding you back then,” said Merle. “Though, I am certain that would make things more peculiar and possibly uncomfortable now… Not to mention how jealous dear Hades would be.”

The Ascian sputtered in protest. “I wouldn’t have been jealous.”

“You would have been, though I am uncertain if it would have been more for the sake of your beloved Persephone or your much endured conflux.” Merle grinned toothily at Emet-Selch, who began to stutter again.

“N-now, don’t go saying it like that--”

“Conflux?” Summer Ruby’s brows lifted. The Ascian groaned and turned his face away. “Did I miss something between you two?”

“You were missing at the time,” Merle said.

“It was something of a desperate, the world is ending and we don’t want to be alone sort of… thing,” Emet-Selch said, unable to meet her gaze.

“Yes, that does sound like something that Hythlodaeus would take advantage of,” she said.

“Wh-what?” Merle let out an embarrassed squeak.

“Please, you were mooning over Hades since we were children. Even if it wasn’t planned or intentional, it’s still something you would do were you given the opportunity.”

Her son looked away. “You don’t have to be so coarse about it.”

“Lovingly so,” she said. “So, you two tied the knot without me or a party?”

“Ah, well…” Emet-Selch turned his head back in her direction but still did not look up at her. “It was after you had run off into hiding, on the last night before we summoned Zodiark. Hythlodaeus was--we were both afraid. We came together and, in so many words, bared our souls to each other. Far more than we had in the past. I did not really realize what we had done until fairly recently, when Merle revealed his true nature to me.”

Summer Ruby smiled and leaned down to look into his eyes. “Well, then I am glad some good came of all of that mess.”

Emet-Selch skirted his gaze in Merle’s direction. “You are?”

“I am. And, you did tell me that his soul shards were always persistent in finding you. Being bound to you certainly would explain that issue.”

He sighed dramatically. “I know, and here I was thinking he was just being his usually obnoxious self. Turns out he was being irritatingly lovesick.”

Merle laughed. “He means that in a nice way.”

“I do not! You are still a pest!”

“I’m your pest,” he teased.

Summer Ruby smiled as she watched the pair lightly bicker. It brought an old warmth to her soul that made her feel safe and secure as she had not in a long time. She perched next to them on the sofa, reached out and took Emet-Selch’s left hand in her right, and gave it a squeeze. He faltered in mid-complaint, and Merle burst out laughing as the Ascian’s cheeks turned red.

“See, Hades, you’re still a sucker for Persephone’s touch.”

“I--I never said I wasn’t!” Emet-Selch grabbed at Merle’s hand with his free one. He closed his eyes, and Summer Ruby was startled to see a tear streak down his cheek.

“Hades, are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I am very, very happy,” said the old Ascian. “I just don’t quite know how to handle being so happy.” His lips pursed. “I did not expect to cry over this.”

Summer Ruby lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. “We’re all happy, Hades. Isn’t that right, Merle?”

“It is indeed. Why, were I to close my eyes, I could almost imagine that we were all about twelve-thousand years younger!” Merle laughed.

Emet-Selch cracked open his eyes, their surface still shining with emotion. “Perhaps that is the overwhelming feeling, then.” He gave a little sniff and squeezed their hands. “After so very long alone, without either of you for more than a passing moment, this feels like a strange indulgence. A dream I did not know I could still have.”

“It is a dream we are happy to share with you, Hades.”

“Indeed. Your dream is ours.”

They sat hand in hand, and for a time all was right on the broken star.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the final installation for _The Century Chorus_! Thank you all for reading; I hope something written this month tickled your fancy.
> 
> I _am_ putting thoughts toward a proper sequel to _The Hellsguard Hare_ , since we've come this far. Might as well put a (butt)bow on the whole story. You can look for that (hopefully) sometime next year!
> 
> Thank you all for reading. I really appreciate it!


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